


Possession

by Miko no da (Miko)



Series: Sinners & Saints [1]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-01
Updated: 2002-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-05 05:17:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3107546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miko/pseuds/Miko%20no%20da
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young boy with extraordinary powers is taken from his family and forced into a life no man should lead.</p><p>(Posting OLD fics from my defunct website)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Обладание](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092896) by [MikiVitte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikiVitte/pseuds/MikiVitte)



It was cold. Cold, and dark. And empty. And lonely. Where was he? He? Yes, he was a he. He was pretty sure, anyway. Who was he? Not sure. Can't remember. What happened?

So cold! It was too cold to think. And his thoughts were bouncing off the walls, echoing around him in different voices. Or were those his thoughts? Maybe they were someone else's. Maybe there was someone else in here with him. That would be nice. Then it wouldn't be so lonely.

"Mutti? Vati?" Names. Whose? Oh yes, his parents. He'd like to see them. They would make the cold and dark go away, just like when he crawled into their bed after the monster in the closet tried to get him. That seemed like so long ago. How long had it been?

"Mutter!" He strained to catch an answer. Surely his Mutti would not leave him alone for long.

_*Poor little thing...*_

Who was that? A woman, but not his Mutti. Go away! I don't want you, I want my Mutti!

_*Poor, dear little thing. So sad. I'd like to take him home with me. He looks so delicate, like a snowflake would break him...*_

He started to cry. He was cold and upset and confused, and this strange woman was yelling at him and not making any sense, and he wanted his Mutti!

_*I wonder if he'll ever wake up. His poor parents...*_

_*If we up the IV and increase the shock therapy to twice a day, perhaps...*_ A new voice, masculine, overlaid the first, creating a jumble in his mind. _*Ah, but the parents have no insurance... this will be such a drain on their finances. And they have that autistic daughter as well...*_

Autistic? He'd heard that word before, though most of what the man was saying didn't make any sense to him. Autistic was what they called his older sister, Anneliese. Was the man talking about him?

_*Likely never wake up. Not with that much damage to the brain. All that swelling... if he ever did wake up, he'd be a near-vegetable. Perhaps...*_

He sensed a hesitation, as if the man were struggling with something. He felt conflict, guilt, pity, and other things he couldn't identify. It scared him more, and he cried harder. "Mutti..."

_*Perhaps it would be best. Spare them the agony of waiting, hoping, for a day that will never come. Let them free up their finances, for the daughter, or for other children they might have. He'd never live a real life, anyway...*_

It scared him, the things behind the words. That man meant to hurt him, hurt him badly. He felt a touch on his arm, and he jerked away. The man and woman both gasped, and finally...

"Lukas!"

His Mutti! He opened his eyes, squinting into the bright light, and reached toward where he'd heard her voice. "Mutti! Mutti, I'm scared..."

"Lukas, baby, baby, you're awake! Oh, Gott in Himmel, thank you! Thank you for sparing our baby..."

Mutti had gathered him up into her arms now, and he cried shamelessly into her shoulder. Beyond he could see Vater speaking with a man and a woman, the same ones who had been talking in the darkness. The strange man was shaken and pale, and was staring at him as though he'd seen a ghost.

"Miracle," he muttered, wiping one hand across his brow. "It's a miracle. Herr Diederich, you're very lucky." He moved forward to touch the boy, and Lukas screamed.

"Nein! Nein, Mutti, don't let him touch me! He's going to kill me, he wants to kill me..." he sobbed hysterically into his Mutter's shirt, and saw the strange man turn paler.

"Lukas!" His Mutti spoke to him sharply. "Don't be silly. This is Doktor Gottschalk, he wants to help you. You had a car accident, baby, and you hit your head. You've been asleep for nearly a week, and we were afraid you weren't going to wake up..."

Lukas shook his head frantically. "Nein! I heard him, he said it would free up your fi... fee... finces..." he stumbled over the unfamiliar word. He didn't know what it meant, but he certainly knew that the doktor had meant him no good! That needle he'd just shoved into a pocket, so no one would see it...

 _*How did he know? Gott in Himmel, how could the boy possibly know?*_ He heard the doktor's voice, but the man's lips didn't move. The voice echoed strangely inside his head, like the time Vater had let him put on the earphones for the radio.

The doktor pasted a smile on his face - the kind of falsely hearty smile that children instantly distrusted. "Now, Lukas," he said, his voice condescending and patronizing, to cover the layer of fear that Lukas could feel underneath. "You've had a very traumatizing experience, and I imagine that your brain has produced all kinds of strange dreams from the things that you've subconsciously heard over the last week. I would never do anything that would hurt you..."

"You're lying!" Lukas accused him, crying harder. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, doktors were supposed to be good people who helped you, not people who lied and tried to hurt you. "Go away! Go away, I hate you! Mutti, Vati, please don't let him touch me! Please!"

Mutti stroked his hair soothingly, looking helplessly over his head at Vater. He'd seen that look between them before, usually when Anneliese had done something they didn't know how to deal with. "Herr Doktor?" she asked the doktor softly.

The man shrugged. "He really should have a few more tests, just to be certain there's no residual damage. But so long as they're negative, I see no reason why you can't take him home today. And I think perhaps, given the circumstances," he bowed slightly at them. "It would be best if one of my colleagues attended the boy. I'll see who is free at the moment."

_*The boy is uncanny - he should not know such things. He had no way - unnatural. Let someone else deal with him...*_

Lukas glared at the doktor, who paled further and turned on one heel, striding out of the room. Somewhere deep in his heart, there was a stirring of fear. How HAD he known? Where had those voices come from? What was wrong with him?

Why had there been such fear and revulsion in the doktor's voice when he thought of Lukas?

 

* * *

Lukas lay sprawled on his bed, hands over his ears in a futile attempt to keep The Voices at bay. That was how he thought of them now - The Voices. They were everywhere, all around him, all the time. Even when he slept, he couldn't evade them. It had been six months since the day he'd woken up in the hospital, and each day was worse than the last.

He couldn't even take solace in his Mutti's arms anymore - he couldn't stand to be touched. Touch made it worse, made The Voices louder. And the louder they got, the quieter his own Voice got, until he had trouble hearing it at all. When that happened, he panicked, and went into one of his Fits.

He didn't like those. Not at all. They hurt, twisting his muscles and making the inside of his eyes flash until he couldn't see anything anymore. Then he fell down, and didn't remember anything until later. Some of the other boys in Kindergarten said that he flopped around like a fish, and that it made the teachers cry when he did it. They all thought it was funny, and laughed at him for it.

Mutti had taken him to another doktor, who had given him little pills that he had to take three times every day. His Voice had talked a lot about a very long word - 'ehpa-lep-see'. That word, when he said it aloud to Mutti, had made her very upset. She made him take the little pills, and never miss one. The pills made him feel very sick, and they sometimes made him dizzy, which made the Voices louder, which made him have more Fits. That made Mutti and the doktor argue, because apparently the pills were supposed to make him have less Fits, not more.

Mutter and Vater had finally stopped making him take the pills, and had taken him out of school two weeks ago, after Gunter fell off the slide and broke his arm, and Lukas had screamed and screamed until they took Gunter away to the hospital. Of course, no one believed him that it was because of Gunter that he screamed. No one believed him about The Voices, either.

At first, when he tried to tell Mutti about The Voices and how they were drowning him out, she just smiled and said something about 'imaginary friends'. But he kept telling her about them, about how it was when The Voices got very loud that he had Fits, how he was afraid he would lose himself in a Fit one day and never come out again. Then she had gotten very angry with him, and told him that it was bad and wicked to make up stories and that he shouldn't tell lies to his Mutter. That made him cry, because it was unfair - he wasn't making up stories and he never lied to his Mutti. Never ever! He was a good boy. But he also cried because she was angry, because when she was angry and upset her Voice got very very loud, and he had to run away and hide so that she wouldn't make him disappear.

That happened whenever anyone got upset, now. Or even when they got very happy. Feeling lots seemed to make a person's Voice much louder. Sometimes the Voices didn't make any sense - either there were too many for him to hear them, or they were talking about things he didn't understand, like the doktor had. Sometimes, they even said words that didn't make any sense at all, like when Vater watched the movies from America that had the little white print at the bottom.

And if he was with any one person too long - that was even worse. Even if their Voice wasn't very loud at first, the longer he was with them, the louder and louder it got. It would drown out all the other Voices, and then it would start to drown out his Voice, and he either had to run away or go into a Fit to escape. And if they touched him...

The only person he could spend any time around any more was his sister, Anneliese. Her Voice was just as loud as everyone else's when she talked, but she didn't say much. Mostly her Voice was a quiet murmur, like she was talking to herself, when she was staring out the window and flapping her hands like she did.

Lukas buried his face in his pillow and kicked his feet against the bed. Mutti would be mad if she saw him doing that, but he didn't care. Mutti was always mad at him now, and for things that weren't his fault at all! Like right now - Mutti and Vati were arguing downstairs, about him. He knew it was about him, even though he couldn't hear their voices, because their Voices were talking about him.

Mutti wanted him to go back to the Nervenheilanstalt, the place where all the crazy people went. The strange doktor there - psychiater, Mutti said he was called - had asked him all sorts of odd questions, like did The Voices ever tell him to do things, and did he ever see things that weren't there. Lukas had spent the entire trip crying, because the Voices of the people at that place were all very scary, and made him feel strange things. The psychiater had said another very long word - 'skit-so-fren-ya' - that made Mutti even more upset. Lukas had gone into a Fit right then, from all the scary things in his head.

The psychiater gave him MORE little pills, different ones this time. These ones made him very tired, which also made The Voices worse, because he didn't have the energy to move around enough to keep from being near one person for too long.

That was what Mutti and Vater were arguing about. Vater wanted to call in a priest, to do something called an 'ek-sor-sih-sum', and that was making Mutti upset again. Lukas petulantly decided that he was never going to use strange-sounding long words when he grew up, if they made people so upset all the time. He squirmed further under the pillows, wishing his parents would stop yelling, because their Voices were getting louder and louder and if they didn't stop soon he was going to have another Fit.

Just when his muscles were trembling with the first signs of an oncoming Fit, the doorbell rang, interrupting the fight downstairs. Lukas poked his head up from under the pillows, listening. He could hear Vater's heavy footsteps going to the door, and then low voices talking. Lukas frowned. He could hear the stranger's voice, but not his Voice, and that was very odd. Curious, he tiptoed out into the hall and peeked around the stair banister.

There were two strange men at the door, dressed in dark suits like Vater wore to Sunday Church, carrying briefcases like Vater took to work every morning. They were holding some papers out to Vater, who was reading them, Mutti hovering over his shoulder. But though he strained and strained, he couldn't hear their Voices at all.

The man who was not talking to Vater glanced up, and looked right at him. Lukas pulled back behind the banister, but the man had already seen him. He turned to Vater and said, "Would we be able to see the boy, at least? To discover if we can help him."

Help him? Were these more doktors or psychiaters? Would they make him take more nasty little pills that made him sick instead of better, and made The Voices stronger than ever? He peeked around the corner again.

"Lukas!" Vater called him. "Lukas, I see you there. Come down here." Lukas obediently came down the stairs to stand behind his Mutti, half-hidden by her skirts. He stuck his thumb in his mouth - a bad habit Vater kept trying to cure him of - and regarded them solemnly.

The man who had seen him spying crouched down to be level with him. Lukas braced himself. Usually grown-ups who did that either acted very childish, or very patronizing, like he was a puppy to be patted on the head for doing a trick. But the man surprised him. He didn't say anything.

Or rather - he didn't say anything with his voice. His Voice said, _*Lukas, can you hear me?*_

Lukas stared at him, wide-eyed. Sometimes the Voices talked about him, but they never ever talked TO him. He thought maybe he'd imagined it, but the man nodded slightly at him.

_*You're not imagining it, Lukas. I'm talking to you. You can talk back to me this way, if you want to.*_

Lukas didn't think he wanted to. This man was very strange, and he didn't like the things that he felt when his Voice was speaking. When his Voice wasn't speaking, he didn't feel anything at all, and that was even stranger.

"I don't like you," he told the man aloud instead, and clutched at his Mutti's thigh. The man chuckled.

"That's all right, Lukas," he said with his normal voice this time. "You don't have to like me for me to help you. I can make The Voices go away, you know."

He said it the way that Lukas always thought it, with the capitals. Lukas watched him suspiciously. "How?"

 _*Just like this,*_ the second man's Voice said - and suddenly all The Voices were gone. All of them. Mutti's, Vati's, Anneliese's - and all the many, many Voices from outside. Lukas gasped and lost his balance, thumping down onto the hardwood floor and staring at the man.

"How..." he started to say, and then just as suddenly as they'd vanished, The Voices were back. It was a little overwhelming, all of them coming back at once like that, and he had to fight to hold off a Fit. He didn't want to black out now, not when this man could tell him how to make The Voices go away!

"Lukas!" his Mutti cried, but he ignored her. All his attention was on the Strange Men, as he was starting to think of them, and he didn't have time to listen to her fuss over him.

The crouching man straightened up again. "I think we will be able to help him after all, Herr Diederich. But it will be a very long and intensive program. It may take years, and he won't be able to have outside contact at all until he improves. There is even a very slight chance that he may die of the procedure."

"Surely there must be another way," Vater said aloud, but Lukas heard what his Voice said. _*Take the unnatural child away,*_ it said, _*and never bring him back for all I care. Have done with him.*_ That made Lukas start to cry again, because in the beginning, Vater's Voice had always been full of love for Lukas, and now it almost never was.

"You can't take my baby!" Mutti said, and her Voice didn't make her words a lie. _*Not my Lukas, not my baby!*_ it said, crying and sad. _*You can't take my baby boy away from me...*_

But for the first time, he heard a second Voice, underneath the first. Lukas hadn't known that people could have two Voices, and the second was very faint. But what it said was not at all what the first Voice said. It said, _*First Anneliese, now Lukas... it's not my fault! Whatever he says, it's his seed that is bad, this is nothing of my doing! I raised my children right and proper, and I was a good Christian wife and mother, and it's not my fault!*_

 _*And now you realize,*_ said the first man's Voice, _*that people lie to themselves even more than they lie to each other.*_ Lukas stared at him, fat tear drops sliding down over his cheeks at his Mutter and Vater's betrayals, and he understood. Mutti told him that only bad, wicked people told lies, that good little boys should always tell the truth. But the truth was that everyone lied. Everyone. And sometimes, the lies were even true. He knew his Mutti and Vati loved him, he knew that. But there was too much hurt and anger for the love to show in their Voices now, and the longer he stayed, the worse it would get. Eventually, the love would go away completely, and all that would be left would be the anger.

If he lived that long. If the Voices didn't drive him crazy, and make them put him in the Nervenheilanstalt, with all the other crazy people and their scary Voices. These people said they could make the Voices go away. And they weren't lying, at least not about that. It might kill him - but wouldn't it be worse to live with his Mutti and Vati hating him, or with the crazy people?

"I want to go," he said aloud. "I want to go with them, Mutter. They can help me. Please?"

Mutter and Vater argued and cried and argued some more, but Lukas knew it was already settled, and so did the Strange Men. They didn't say anything else with their Voices, and he was glad. He stared at the floor, not wanting to listen to all the conflicting things his parents' voices and Voices said, rocking slowly back and forth from foot to foot.

Finally, they agreed. The Strange Men made Mutter and Vati sign some papers, and then they told Lukas to follow them and turned to walk out the door. Now that the moment of truth was at hand, Lukas balked. "Wait!" he said, and they looked at him. "What about all my things?"

"You won't need them," the first man said. "The Institute will provide you with everything you need from now on."

Not take his clothes? His teddy? Unthinkable. But the man's Voice said, _*You won't need such things. Do you want to be a little boy who hears Voices, or a big man who can control them?*_

I want to be a big man, Lukas decided. But... "Can I at least say goodbye to Anneliese?"

The Strange Men looked at each other, and Lukas thought they might be discussing it with their Voices. But try as he might, he couldn't hear them. Finally the first man nodded. "Be quick," he said.

Lukas scurried up the stairs to his sister's room. It was locked from the outside, so that she couldn't get out and go wandering. Left to herself, she always ended up at the edge of the stream out back, staring into the water and humming and flapping her hands. Mutter and Vater were afraid that she'd fall in one day, so they locked her inside 'for her own good'. Lukas had always thought it was a little mean - Anneliese hadn't done anything bad to get her sent to her room for punishment, and being by the stream always made her so happy. Sometimes he'd turn the lock and let her out, and follow her outside to make sure she didn't hurt herself.

He turned the lock now, and slipped inside. Anneliese was standing by the window, rocking back and forth and humming that tuneless little song of hers, though she wasn't flapping. Lukas tugged on her sleeve.

"Anneliese," he whispered. He always whispered to her, he wasn't sure why. It just felt like the right thing to do. "Anneliese, I'm going away. They're taking me away, and I might never come back."

Anneliese rocked back and forth, humming, ignoring him like she always did. But her Voice murmured, just a little. It might be in reaction to what he'd said, or it might just be one of her random little burbles. Lukas chose to believe it was because of him. He reached up and hugged her, carefully, then went back out into the hall. He deliberately left her door unlocked, knowing it was the last time she'd get a chance to go down by the stream.

The Strange Men were waiting for him patiently by the door. Mutti fussed over him, hugging him lots, and Vater even knelt down and touseled his hair. But Lukas held himself away from them, already separating himself from them in his mind. They're just lying again, he thought to himself. They're putting on a show, because it's expected. This is how a good Mutter and Vater would act, as if they were going to miss their boy, so that's what they did. And they might even miss me really, a little. But they're glad to see me going. They don't want to deal with me any more.

And then he thought, That's okay. I'm going to learn to make the Voices go away, and I'm going to be a big strong man. And someday they'll see me, and they'll be sad that they didn't love me when they had the chance, because I won't care about them at all.

 _*That's right, Lukas,*_ the first man said. _*You're going to be very powerful, and many people will wish you loved them. You're a very lucky little boy, that we found you when we did.*_

Lukas nodded, and followed them out to their big black car, never looking back though his Mutti cried and cried at him to take care of himself, and to remember her. As he settled into the seat and pulled the too-large buckle around him, he worked very hard to ignore the tears sliding down over his cheeks. Tears were for little boys, and he was a big man now. No more tears for Lukas, and soon no more Voices, either.

And if he'd heard things under the men's Voices, nasty, horrid things that they wanted him to do, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered, if they could make the Voices go away. He'd do anything, anything at all, to be a normal boy again.


	2. Chapter 2

Lukas frowned at his image in the bathroom mirror as he toweled off after his shower. He was sunburned AGAIN, his face and torso a horrible rosy pink that clashed terribly with his bright orange hair. No matter what he did or how much sunblock he wore, he always got sunburned during physical training in the summer. Worse yet, all that exposure to sunlight made his freckles appear, turning his skin a weird mottled brown colour beneath the lobster red.

He blew out a long breath and considered asking one of the micro-kinetics to fiddle with his system, see if they could get him to tan instead of burn. Of course, the instructors would blow a fuse if they ever found out, but that was half the fun of it...

"You'll get caught," came a deep tenor from behind him. In the reflection of the mirror Lukas saw Brad, one of the oldest boys in the complex, enter the shower room. "And you won't like what they do to you."

Lukas made a childish face at him in the mirror, but he sighed. If anyone else had said that, he'd have ignored them and tried it anyway. But Brad was here because he saw things before they happened, and if he said Lukas would be caught, then Lukas would be caught.

There were only thirty-one children here, ranging from the newest addition at age seven to Brad and Giovanni at almost nineteen. Those two were just about ready to be graduated, Lukas knew. Most of them were boys, and it wasn't hard to figure out why - they were being trained for combat and military duties, and girls just weren't generally suited for that kind of thing. All four of the girls here were tough-as-nails tomboys, difficult to tell apart from the boys except for their budding figures. And every one of the children, right down to little Jean-Pierre, was extraordinarily Gifted.

For, as Lukas had discovered in his first year here at the Institute, The Voices in his head had not been the product of his imagination, or the symptoms of schizophrenia as the psychiatrists had thought. He was a telepath, able to hear the thoughts and sometimes the feelings of other people, capable of getting inside their heads and even changing what they thought to what he wanted them to think. It was an incredibly powerful Gift, and he'd worked very hard to become adept in controlling it.

Because he'd discovered something else, in his eight years here. The Strange Men had lied to him, just as everyone lied. They couldn't take away The Voices in his mind. Oh, to give them credit, they'd thought they could - but they couldn't. He'd gotten stronger as he matured, and no matter how they trained him, no matter how Lukas fought to build his shields stronger and thicker and heavier, The Voices still reached him.

He could tune them out, now, and ignore them most of the time. Most of The Voices that had plagued him after his accident were just the background murmur of people's everyday surface thoughts, and he could block those out just fine. He hadn't taken a Fit since the first month after they'd brought him here, in fact.

But the strong Voices - those he couldn't block. When people were hurt very badly, or feeling very passionately about something, that would leak in through his shields. Sometimes it would take him over completely, especially if the other person had some projective ability themselves. He still had to be careful not to spend too much time around any one person, though his limit was now on the order of days and weeks rather than minutes and hours, and improving all the time. And he had to be very, very careful about letting people touch him skin-to-skin. The first time one of the other telepaths had touched him it had taken the instructor nearly three hours to wake them both up. It was very disconcerting to suddenly have another person's entire psyche temporarily shoved into your head.

Lukas knew that he was stronger than any other telepath they'd ever trained, because the instructors talked about it to each other, and they weren't strong enough to keep him from looking past their shielding anymore. Not if he really wanted to. They worried about him, worried that they might not be able to contain him, control him.

All the children knew they were being brainwashed into obedience to the Institute. Mostly it didn't bother them, because they all knew that the Institute had saved them from themselves, showed them how to control their powers so that they didn't go insane or even kill themselves. And it was very effective brainwashing, too. Lukas had been five, nearly six, when they'd brought him here to this complex in the Swiss Alps, and a very intelligent child. Yet he literally could not remember his own last name, or recall what his Mutti or Vati had looked and sounded like. It was the same with all of them. No one remembered their families, or who they had been before coming here. They were permitted to keep their given names only because the instructors had to call them something.

But that didn't bother them, either. What little they did remember about their families was much the same as Lukas - the fear, the mistrust, the horror of parents faced with little boys and girls who were not, by any definition of the word, Normal. Lukas wasn't the only one whose parents had looked to the priests for answers, and from the nightmare he'd once picked up from one of the telekinetics, he was VERY glad his Vater had never had a chance to have him exorcised. Every one of the children here had been signed into custody of the Institute by their parents or guardians. Every one of them had been abandoned by their families. And so they created a new family here, with each other.

Brad was still watching him in the mirror, leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed, smirking. "Are you done preening yet?" he drawled, making reference to the amount of time Lukas often spent in front of the mirrors.

Lukas stuck his tongue out at his friend. Though Brad was more than five years older than him, they had been close friends since the older boy had come to the Institute two years after Lukas. As close as Lukas let anyone get, anyway, though that wasn't saying much. Though the American's foremost power was the ability to see the shifting patterns of the future, he had some small telepathic ability of his own. More importantly, he had a natural mental shielding so thick and dense that Lukas could not penetrate it, even if he tried. The only time he ever heard Brad's thoughts was when Brad wanted him to, and that was just fine with Lukas. It meant that he could spend as much time as he wanted with his friend, and never have to worry about getting caught up in the other boy's mind.

Brad opened up a little to him now. _*However much you stare at them, your muscles aren't going to fill out overnight, you know,*_ he projected with some amusement. Lukas rolled his eyes.

"I know that, dumbass," he replied in English. Everyone here spoke English, since it was the language the classes were given in, though the children were encouraged to keep practicing their native tongues. You never knew when an extra language might come in handy. Lukas was very proud that his English had almost no trace of an accent now. "I'm just standing here thinking about how glad I am that I'm not as butt-ugly as you are."

Brad laughed, and Lukas grinned at him in the mirror. In truth Lukas thought Brad was very handsome, though not in the muscle-bound way of some men. The American had reached his full height at six foot one, and his shoulders had broadened and his chest filled out quite a bit in the last few years. He was still slender and likely always would be, but it was a whipcord slenderness, like a really good martial artist. His sable hair was buzzed into a short crew cut, just like the rest of the boys, but somehow it still gave the impression of being silky soft. His face was very angular beneath his glasses; some might have said he was harsh-looking, and they would have been right. But his cinnamon eyes were full of the fire of intelligence and a kind of ruthless passion, and Lukas knew that Brad was going to be very powerful one day. And on that day, Lukas, his best friend, would be standing there by his side, laughing at all the little Normals as they crawled around under their feet.

Lukas, on the other hand, was a scrawny thirteen-year-old who showed no signs of filling out any time soon. His arms and legs were too long for his body, and he was forever tripping and tangling up in things, and knocking things over. Throw in the freckles and the carrot-orange hair, and he looked like an overgrown Raggedy Andy doll. Brad kept telling him to be patient, that he would grow into his limbs with time, but patience was one thing Lukas had never been very good at. His only saving grace were his eyes, so green that one of the Irish students had once remarked that he must be part Sidhe, whatever that was.

"Lukas..." Brad had gone very solemn all of a sudden, and Lukas frowned. Automatically he tried to probe into the other boy's mind to see what was bothering him, and ran up against his friend's shield. He shook his head to clear it of the slight buzzing, and made himself pay attention to what Brad was saying aloud.

"Lukas, they're sending me away."

Lukas blinked. "Away? Away where?"

Brad shrugged. "Back to America, I think. I'm going out into the field, on assignment. They're graduating me."

Lukas was stunned. They'd known it would happen soon, of course - no one ever stayed at the Institute past their nineteenth birthday, unless they came back as instructors. But... somehow he still wasn't ready for it. Brad graduating meant that they wouldn't see each other again for at least five years, until Lukas graduated as well. Brad straightened up off the wall and came over to rest his hands on Lukas' shoulders, gripping them tightly and staring at his friend in the mirror.

"Don't forget me, Lukas," he said viciously, and Lukas was startled at the amount of feeling in the older boy's words. Brad didn't usually let his emotions show, preferring to keep people guessing at what he was thinking and feeling. "Don't let them brainwash you into forgetting about me, about our friendship. They're going to try, you know. They don't want us to be loyal to anyone but them, because otherwise we might band together and decide we didn't want to follow them anymore."

Lukas nodded. That much was common knowledge among the students. When you had a group of people this powerful under your control, you didn't do anything that might risk them rebelling. "I promise, Brad," he swore, and he truly meant it. They stared into each other's eyes in the mirror for a long moment, and finally Brad said something that would have sounded very strange to anyone listening to them.

"It's raining out," he said conversationally. It was a stupid thing to say, because neither of them had been outside yet today and there were no windows in the complex, so how could he know if it was raining or not?

But it wasn't as odd as someone might think. It was, in fact, a private code phrase between the two of them, that meant Brad wanted him to open up a tight mental connection between them; one buried so deep in their minds that the instructors wouldn't even know it was there, much less be able to listen in. As far as Lukas knew, he was the only student who could do that.

He opened the channel, lacing it around and around with shields to keep stray thoughts from leaking and alerting the instructors. Brad turned him around so they were face to face, and leaned down so that their foreheads were touching, their eyes only an inch apart. That, of course, made the connection even stronger, so that Lukas could feel some of what Brad was thinking even beneath his incredible shielding.

 _*I've never told anyone this, Lukas, and I'm telling you now because I trust you not to betray me,*_ Brad told him silently. Lukas' eyes widened, but he let nothing else betray his surprise, in case the instructors were watching the bathroom cameras. _*The brainwashing didn't take with me, Lukas. I still know who I am, who my family was.*_

Lukas fought to keep his breathing and pulse steady, using the control techniques they'd been taught in their martial arts classes. _*How?*_ he asked, amazed. No one escaped the brainwashing, because the instructors who were telepathic could TELL if it wasn't working, and step up the program. Except...

Brad nodded as he read the thought in Lukas' mind. _*That's right. I was already too old when I got here, but that might not have mattered if it wasn't for my shield. If you can't get past it, of course they can't either. And I've let them see what they expected to see. As far as they can tell, I'm perfectly under their control, a good little soldier. But I'm not, and someday I'm going to break free of them, and use my Gift for myself.*_ He paused, staring deeply into Lukas' eyes, searching mentally for some sign of understanding.

Lukas understood, all right. If Brad really was free of the brainwashing, that still didn't mean that he was free of the Institute. The Institute had been training Gifted children for generations, and every one of those children who were still alive were utterly loyal to the Institute. If Brad went rogue, struck out on his own, they'd hunt him down mercilessly, and not even his Gift would be able to save him in the end.

Brad nodded again. _*That's right. I can't do it alone. But Lukas... you're not completely under their control either, do you realize that? I know you don't remember much about your life, but they've had you since you were five, so that's to be expected. But you're too powerful for them. They can't reach the very deepest parts of your mind, unless you let them. DON'T LET THEM. Keep them out, hide like I did, and when you graduate, I'll come find you. And we'll go rogue together, watching each other's backs. I know we can do it. I've Seen that we can do it, if we work together. IF you don't let them get you.*_

Lukas' heart was beating very rapidly in his chest now, and he couldn't make it slow. What Brad was saying was exciting enough, but there was more, beneath the words, that made Lukas very curious indeed. Roiling emotions combined with a strong kind of hunger that he didn't really understand. But he knew this much - it sparked a bit of that same hunger deep within himself. _*I won't let them get me, Brad. I won't forget you, and I won't let them find out about you, either.*_

There was a gleam of satisfaction in his friend's golden eyes. _*Wait for me, and I'll come for you, I promise.*_ Then he did something that shocked Lukas past thinking at all - he leaned down and sealed his lips over Lukas' mouth, kissing him the way he'd seen Sven and Ingrid kissing, all tongue and lips and spit.

And - and it felt good. So good, that his whole body tingled. He trembled beneath his friend's passionate touch, and finally found the strength to respond. But he'd barely started when Brad pulled away again, his expression closed and forbidding, already shutting down the mental connection between them.

"Don't forget," he said shortly, and turned and walked to the door. Once there he paused, and looked back over his shoulder. "And if you don't stop daydreaming and hurry, you're going to be late for class."

Then he was gone, and Lukas knew that it would be years and years before he ever saw his friend again. And he wondered why Brad had done that, kissed him the way a boy was supposed to kiss a girl. He hadn't known boys could kiss that way, too. They'd certainly never talked about it in their sex-ed class!

And he also wondered about the last brush of Brad's mind against his, before the shield had come down - the one so deep, so quiet, that he wasn't sure if it really was Brad's thought or just his own imagination. The one that had whispered, *I love you,* just like Sven and Ingrid were always thinking at each other. Lukas tried to avoid hanging around the twins, because their lovey-dovey manner was so disturbing when the Instructors weren't around to catch them being incestuous. But this hadn't felt mushy like that - this made him tingle inside, the way the kiss had, and made him wish that he was old enough to graduate already, so that he wouldn't have to be apart from Brad at all.

Then he remembered Brad's last spoken words, and he realized what his friend had meant. He HAD been staring off into space for the last five minutes, and if he didn't run he was going to be late for class! He bolted for the door, dressed in nothing but his towel, scrambling for the boy's barracks where his uniform and books waited.

Wait for ME, Brad, he thought to himself, making sure it was deep enough that the instructors wouldn't overhear it. I'll be there, by your side, when you need me most. I promise.


	3. Chapter 3

Lukas held the semi-automatic pistol in his hands, getting the feel of the weapon. Target practice was his favourite part of the day, hands down. He liked guns; he liked the way they felt in his hands, like an extension of his arm. He was an excellent shot, probably the best the Institute had at the moment, and the firearms teachers were starting to come to HIM for pointers.

He carefully checked to make sure there wasn't a clip in the gun, then poked a finger into the chamber to ensure there wasn't a bullet there. Sure, the instructors double-checked the weapons before handing them out to the students. But that didn't mean there wasn't a dummy round - or even a live round - waiting in the chamber for a careless student to miss. And that was a damned good way to get yourself assigned to scrubbing out the mess hall with a toothbrush.

Having satisfied himself that the gun was safe, he then proceeded to wipe the oil from the barrel and moving parts with a soft white cloth provided for that purpose. The students were expected to know how to care for their weapons, and how to fix them if they ever malfunctioned. That was more of a concern with the sub-machine guns and fully automatic weapons, of course, but every weapon deserved the same amount of care and attention.

That done, he loaded up the clip, as well as a spare. Thirty bullets total, and if you needed more than that in a firefight you were screwed anyway, because you should have brought heavier guns. They were practicing shooting on the run today, and the instructors were going to be firing paint pellets from the sides of the field as they ran. Their targets were more than a hundred yards away, painted life-like figures of police, military, and even civilians, which would be knocked down by the force of the bullets. You got two points for every 'kill', meaning a head or heart shot, and one for a hit to a non-vital area. You also got points taken off if you hit a civilian, or if the instructors hit you, depending on where the shots landed.

There were still two people ahead of him in line. He waited his turn, bouncing on the balls of his feet to stay warmed up. They'd all just come off the endurance obstacle course, so he was more than limber enough for this. He had to smirk at that - he'd scored a personal best time on the course today, shaving nearly three whole seconds off his previous best. His long-limbed gawkiness was finally transforming itself into something useful.

Lukas watched as Long Xia, a teleporter from Hong Kong, ran the gauntlet. They were being permitted to use their powers in this run - they trained equally with and without powers. That wasn't much help for a telepath like Lukas in this situation - but the telekinetics and teleporters had a serious advantage. Xia's control was fine enough that she could dodge the paint bullets simply by not BEING there when they hit her. Then a fraction of a second later she'd phase back in, fire a couple of shots, and disappear again before the instructors could target her.

She made the run in good time, and hit about eighty percent of the right targets. She only hit a 'civvie' twice. Probably one of her better runs.

After her was Richard, an ebony-skinned boy from somewhere deep in the Belgian Congo. 'Richard' wasn't his real name, of course - but none of the other students could pronounce the odd collection of clicks, whistles and glottal stops that comprised his name, so he'd chosen something easier for them. Richard was one of the micro-kinetics, which wasn't going to help him much here.

It took him considerably longer than Xia to get to the other side of the course, and he took several hits from the paintballs. He also didn't hit nearly as many of the targets - but then again, he was only eleven, and he'd been here just two years. He'd get better with practice.

Now it was Lukas' turn, and he braced himself at the start line. As much as he loved target practice, this particular incarnation of it was not his favourite. No matter how he twisted and dodged and wove, the instructors seemed to get him with every bloody shot. Sure, he hit every one of the targets, and never once hit a 'civvie'... but his score still sucked. Last time Dekane, the head instructor for firearms, had told him that if he didn't improve his score by at least ten percent, he was going to be sent back a level in firearms class. How embarrassing!

The countdown started, and he adjusted his grip on the pistol. At 'go', his body was instantly in motion, feet pounding into the packed sand of the practice ground. Part of him was completely dedicated to aiming his gun and squeezing the trigger, and he saw with delight that his score there was going to be perfect, as usual. Another piece of his attention was fixed on the instructors' minds, trying to feel when they were going to shoot, hoping that would help him evade the pellets.

It was a tactic he'd tried before, and it wasn't working any better this time than it had in previous attempts. He cursed aloud as three pellets hit him in quick succession, one just barely missing the disqualifying heart shot.

His redhead's temper boiled over, and he snarled as he quit trying to anticipate the instructors. Instead he decided to take the offensive to THEM. They were allowed to use their powers, weren't they? Well, Lukas' Gift lay in manipulating the human mind. So he twisted, just a little, shifting their perceptions of him until they couldn't quite be certain of where he was.

The paint pellets started spraying wildly around him, everywhere but where he was. Laughing aloud in delight, he finished the course without another shot hitting him. Perfect score on the targets, near-perfect on dodging. Once past the finish line, he waited, slightly out of breath, for Dekane to give him the official results.

Dekane was staring at him in disbelief. "What the hell did you just do?" he demanded roughly.

Lukas shrugged. "I convinced them I was where I wasn't," he replied flippantly. "Or that I wasn't where I was. Take your pick." The head instructor stalked over to him, checking him over for the bright red splashes of paint that signified a hit by the instructors. He found only the original three shots.

"Can you repeat that?" he asked the younger boy, squinting down at him.

Lukas concentrated for a brief moment, convincing Dekane's mind that he was standing perfectly still in front of him. Then he darted around to the man's back, and slapped him on the shoulder, letting go of the mental twist at the same moment. Dekane spun around, startled, to see Lukas laughing behind him.

"I didn't see you move," the heavy-set man breathed in astonishment. "Phillipe! What was his run time?" he barked to the instructor with the stopwatch.

"Two point four seconds slower than usual, boss," the Brazilian clairvoyant replied. "If I wasn't holding the watch, I wouldn't believe it, though. I swear he moved twice that fast."

Lukas was startled. He'd only meant to affect the impressions of the two instructors firing at him - but from the awed looks on the other student's faces, he managed a great deal more than that. He mulled that over for a long moment, pleased. The possibilities to this were nearly endless, once he'd practiced at it. If someone couldn't tell when and where he was coming from, they wouldn't be able to hit him.

"Were you all shielded?" Dekane asked the two instructors manning the guns. Both nodded, and he turned back to Lukas. "Well, boy, it seems there are some uses to your ability that we hadn't counted on." He clasped Lukas on the shoulder, his version of high praise. Lukas felt himself flush with pleasure. "And your usual excellent job of shooting. Good work, boy. I'm moving you up a level - next class you work with the advanced group, understand?"

Lukas nodded, eyes shining. At just over fourteen, he normally wouldn't have been promoted into that class for another two years. The instructors at the Institute didn't believe in holding back a child for formalities, however. This would increase his standing among the other students considerably.

"In the meantime," Dekane continued, the gleam in his eyes showing that he was well aware of Lukas' pleasure, "you need to get a handle on this new ability of yours. I want you to clean and rack your pistol, then report to Instructor Emanuel. Now git!" He shoved Lukas' shoulder, sending him off in the direction of the armoury.

Lukas trotted back to the gunroom, feeling like his feet shouldn't even be touching the ground he was flying so high. Emanuel was the instructor for the advanced telepathic classes, the one-on-ones. Up until now Lukas had been studying with all the other telepaths in the Institute in a group, and only the older students got private training in addition. Promoted to two advanced classes in one day! Brad would be proud of him.

That thought sobered him a little. Brad had been gone six months, and Lukas found himself aching for the other boy's company. There was no one else here that he was close to, COULD be close to. Sometimes, late at night when they were supposed to be sleeping, he would send his mind out, questing for Brad's familiar mental touch. That had worked for the first few days, as Brad was traveling overland across Europe. But once the older boy had gotten most of the way across the Atlantic, they had lost that tenuous contact. Half a world was too far for even someone as powerful as Lukas to reach, but that didn't stop him from trying.

He hadn't been able to stop thinking about that kiss, either. The feelings it had woken in him refused to be put back to rest, and he'd had some embarrassing moments in the mornings, waking to find his sheets sticky. This was what the sex-ed instructor had referred to as 'wet dreams', he could only surmise. He hadn't understood the term at the time, but now...

He'd also wondered if only Brad could produce those feelings. Feeling a little like he was betraying his friend, he'd set out to experiment. He discovered that he liked kissing girls about as much as he liked kissing guys, but neither of his two other experiences were half as strong as what he'd felt when Brad kissed him. Finally he decided to wait until he was with Brad again for further experimentation. Not that he expected Brad to be 'faithful' to him - he knew from the older boys' talk that men had needs that had to be filled. That was fine - Lukas didn't care what Brad did when he wasn't there, so long as Lukas got to be the center of his attention eventually.

He cleaned his gun with lightning speed, though he was careful not to miss a single step in the process. It would be silly for him to fall flat on his face now, after such praise. Dekane was his favourite instructor, and Lukas knew from reading his mind that he was Dekane's favourite student, though the instructors weren't supposed to show favouritism.

Humming an old German song he vaguely remembered from his childhood, he trotted down the hall to the wing that housed the classrooms. Sending his mind out briefly, he quested for the thread that was 'Emanuel', and found him in one of the shielded classrooms with another student. Ordinarily the heavy shielding on the room would prevent someone outside from being able to touch the minds of anyone inside, but it was no match for Lukas' strength. Sensing that the current lesson was about to come to an end, he waited patiently outside the door to the room.

The longer he stood there, the more he began to get a disquieting feeling that all was not right. He couldn't quite put his finger on the source, but it was clearly emanating from the study room. It crept into his mind like fog through a window, making him edgy and a little frightened. Hastily he threw up some of his stronger shields, and was relieved when they successfully blocked the sensation from his mind.

But what could be causing it? Lukas stared at the door, wondering if something terrible had gone wrong, and both the instructor and student inside were in trouble. He was just debating picking the lock and going in, when the door abruptly opened and a lithe form flew out.

It was Arun, the Pakistani telepath whose mind had accidentally trapped Lukas' during one of his first lessons in shielding. Both boys had avoided each other as much as possible after that, each uncomfortable with the knowledge that the other knew everything there was to know about him, including his deepest secrets; but Lukas knew Arun well enough to know that something was wrong.

The golden-skinned boy had a blank expression on his face, but his eyes were full of something deep and terrifying. Lukas hesitantly reached out to touch the other teen's mind, and pulled back immediately at the wave of self-loathing and revulsion that he touched. "Arun..." he trailed off, not certain what to say.

Arun started, and whirled to stare at him, as if he had only just noticed Lukas' presence. "Lukas," he whispered, voice trembling with some suppressed emotion. "What are you doing here?"

"I... Dekane said I should report to Instructor Emanuel," he replied hesitantly, not liking the way Arun's eyes darkened as he spoke. "I've manifested some new side effects, and he wants me to learn to control them better..."

Arun shook his head, and leaned forward to embrace him. Lukas stiffened in shock and panic - Arun of all people knew how much he hated to be touched, and understood why...

 _*Lukas, my friend, may Allah be with you,*_ the other telepath's voice echoed in his mind. Lukas had to fight with everything he had to keep from being pulled into the other boy's mind entirely - the raging storm of emotions there was like nothing he'd ever felt before. There had been nothing even remotely similar to this in Arun's mind that day they had gotten locked together - whatever was causing it, it had happened here, in the Institute.

Then the older boy was gone, vanishing down the hallway in a kind of defeated slink. Lukas stared after him, seriously disturbed by what he'd seen and the implications of it. But what could possibly have damaged Arun that badly?

He became aware of another telepathic presence beside him, tightly shielded. He turned and looked up to see Instructor Emanuel looming over him, frowning slightly. "Lukas, what are you doing here?" he asked, and Lukas felt the mental probe at his shields as the man tried to read him.

He deflected it automatically, hardly registering the effort. "Instructor Dekane said I should see you, sir," he answered politely. "I've manifested a new side effect of my power - I can convince people that I'm not where I am, so they can't hit me."

"Is that so?" Emanuel raised one dark eyebrow, registering mild interest. "I'm scheduled for another class right now, but I have an hour free opposite your ordinary telepathy class. Come see me then." The Greek man dismissed him by the simple expedient of turning away and going back into the shielded practice room. Lukas was a little put off by his manner - this was a major achievement for him, and Dekane had certainly seemed excited by it. Then again, from the little he'd seen of Emanuel, nothing really excited the man at all.

He turned back down the hall, figuring he might as well use the bit of free time he had to study up before class. As he walked he tried hard to shake the bad feeling that had settled over him. You're not a precog, he told himself sternly, feeling oddly as though he had a target painted right in the center of his back. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. Quit thinking about it!

Long after lights out that night, the image of Arun's dark, haunted eyes stayed with him, keeping him awake. What could have caused it?


	4. Chapter 4

Lukas leaned against the wall outside the small practice room, biting his lip and fighting to keep his shielding in place. It had been a constant struggle since early that morning, and he'd nearly lost control twice already - he was trembling on the verge of a Fit, and after all his hard work to free himself from them he had no desire to go back to them now.

Everyone at the Institute, Instructor and student alike, was furious, grief-stricken, and anguished by turns. In the advanced firearms practice that morning, during the middle of a target run much like the one in which Lukas had first discovered the new application of his Gift, Arun had turned his pistol around and shot himself fatally in the head before anyone could stop him. No one had realized what was happening until it was too late - even Ivan, the Russian Healer who shared the class with them, had been unable to save the telepath.

The worst part was that there had been no clue, no warning signs, no indication at all that Arun would do something like that. The Pakistani had always been quiet and retiring, but he hadn't seemed any more so than normal lately. He hadn't had any close friends - few of the students were close with each other, despite the forced intimacy of their living conditions. The Instructors made sure of that, to prevent just the kind of conspiracy that Brad and Lukas were in. Only Lukas had had any hint that something might be wrong - that day nearly a month previously, when he had encountered Arun leaving his private lesson with Instructor Emanuel.

He was furious with himself now, for not having followed up on the things he'd felt in his friend's mind at that time. He'd known that the depression and self-hatred he'd sensed weren't normal, he should have reported it to someone! But he'd been so wrapped up in his own elation at being promoted in two areas that he'd dismissed it from his mind, wilfully forgotten it because he hadn't wanted to deal with it. Now Arun was gone forever, and it was at least partly his fault.

A group of the younger students passed him in the hall, heading towards a strategy class by the looks of the texts and notebooks in their arms. He was nearly swamped by the wave of sorrow and misery they projected, most of them still too untrained to have learned how to shield themselves. He snarled at them. "Damp it down, will you?" he snapped, raising one trembling hand to his head in a futile effort to stave of the migraine that was forming. "Have a little consideration for us telepaths!"

They gave him startled looks, and scurried on past him as quickly as they could. Those few who knew how to shield did so, stretching themselves to cover their companions as well. Lukas sighed in relief as the headache abated a little, though it was far from gone.

At long last the door beside him opened and Sirikit, a telepath from Thailand, emerged. She was as downcast and upset as everyone else, but at least her personal shielding was strong enough that she wasn't forcing Lukas to share her emotions with her. She nodded at him, gliding past him down the hall on silent slippered feet. He ducked into the practice room the moment she was out of the doorway, although protocol called for him to wait until Emanuel invited him in, and let the door slam shut behind him. Enveloped in the muffled feeling of mental silence caused by the heavy shielding on the room itself, he breathed a deep sigh of relief.

"Having trouble keeping it all out?" Emanuel asked from the other side of the room, where he was seated in one of the two chairs studying a clipboard of notes. He didn't bother to look up as Lukas entered the room, signaling his subtle disapproval of the boy's actions - but he didn't order him to get out, either, to Lukas's gratitude.

"Yeah," he answered roughly, drawing a shaking hand across his brow to rid himself of the sweat that had gathered there. "It's pretty rough out there. Everyone's going nuts, and even the people who CAN shield aren't remembering to."

Now Emanuel glanced up at him; a neutral glance, neither friendly nor hostile, just as he always looked. Still, today there was something buried deep in his black eyes that made Lukas feel uneasy. Or perhaps it was the lack of something, he thought to himself; Emanuel was the one person in the entire Institute who looked as though he'd barely noticed the death of one of his prize students.

"Sit down," the man invited at last, and Lukas did so. "I realize that you're not working at full capacity today, but we're going to attempt some exercises anyway. It will help you get your mind off it, if nothing else." He smiled thinly at his own little pun. Lukas shifted nervously in his seat, unable to shake the feeling of unease that was plaguing him. It grew worse with every word Emanuel uttered, and he threw his tightest shields up to try to combat it. That helped, at least for the moment.

"Today we're going to be working on reading people through shielding and other obstacles. Yes, I know you're already strong enough to get through the shields of anyone here at the Institute without effort," he said, forestalling Lukas' protest, "but you have a distressing tendency not to look past the surface thoughts, the first layer of a person's psyche. Many telepaths can be stymied by the simple expedient of repeating nonsense verse or doing mental calculations in your mind, keeping the information they want to read out of your surface thoughts." Lukas nodded thoughtfully - he'd encountered that phenomenon a few times. Usually he was strong enough to just bull past the distraction and grab what he wanted anyway, but if there was an easier way to do it, he was willing to learn! It took a lot of energy to get through by main strength of mind.

"You are more than strong enough to get past this," Emanuel said, echoing his own thoughts. "What you now need to practice is finesse. Control. Just as a smaller, lighter martial artist can defeat an opponent who uses only brute strength, so a telepath with good control can outmanoeuvre a technically more powerful mind."

He paused, staring at Lukas intently. It was the most emotion Lukas had ever seen on the man's face, but he couldn't identify the source of it. Whatever it was, it made warning bells go off in the back of his mind, making him twitch and look away.

"This is the first exercise," Emanuel finally continued, still watching him intently. "I will think of something that I wish for you to do. I will be thinking of different things on several layers - this is a technique that I perfected some time ago, which few can manage. Depending on which action it is that you perform, I will know how deeply you have been able to go. We will practice this until it is second nature to you. Then we will expand your facility, by setting a predetermined 'level' for you to look for, rather than simply the deepest. Do you understand?"

Lukas nodded, frowning in concentration. Emanuel grunted in satisfaction. "Very good. Begin."

He half-closed his eyes, carefully dropping his shields one by one and sending tendrils of thought probing out. He didn't close them entirely - that was a bad habit they were broken of early in training. Close your eyes to concentrate on mental attacks, and you give your enemy a physical opening. The moment he lowered his defences the feeling of unease returned, but he ignored it - he was fairly certain now that Emanuel was projecting it on purpose, one of the 'distractions' he was supposed to get past.

The first layer was easy, despite the heavy shielding Emanuel had up. Get up, cross the room, and pick up the square blue block from the set that the telekinetics practiced with. He ignored it, and dug deeper. Ah, clever - same command, but the block he was supposed to pick up was the round red one. Emanuel had said that there would be several layers, though, so he kept digging. He was taking too long, but it was only his first try - speed would come with practice, as the Instructor had said.

He passed by several more commands, both simple and complex, before he thought he had the bottom one. Smirking slightly, he reached out and touched Emanuel's right arm, precisely one inch above the elbow. The man gave him a thin smile in return.

"Very good, though that was not the very bottommost command. You were only a few levels from it, however. Excellent for a first attempt."

Lukas fought to stifle his frown. He thought he'd done better than that. Greedy, he told himself firmly. You can't be the best at everything on the first try. You may be powerful, but if you didn't need practice, you wouldn't be here!

"Again."

They went through the exercise several more times, and still Lukas was unable to penetrate any further into the man's mind. He was starting to get frustrated, when suddenly he had a brainstorm - he stopped looking for articulated commands, and opened himself to images and emotions as well.

Bingo! Emanuel was always so careful to keep emotions out of the lessons, always stressed concentrating on the purity of telepathy, that he hadn't thought to search for them before. But there they were, shining out brightly. Triumphantly he leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest, and propped his left ankle up on his right knee. He grinned exultantly at his teacher, who nodded.

"Excellent. But too slow. Now we work on speed of comprehension, and this time there will not always be the same number of layers each time."

Lukas dropped his foot back to the floor and sat up again, concentrating. He reached out once more, keeping himself carefully open to images and emotions. He drew back again almost at once, stunned. He stared at Emanuel, bemused by what he'd felt - a storm of carefully controlled hunger and need, directed at him. The sensation made his stomach roil, and he shivered. "Well?" Emanuel prompted him impatiently, and he hesitantly reached out again. It had to be his imagination, he told himself, though he couldn't keep from swallowing hard and bracing for the return of the sensation.

It wasn't his imagination. At the deepest levels of the Instructor's mind that he could reach, the hunger sat waiting like a chained predator. It felt a bit like what he'd seen in Brad's mind when the older boy had kissed him, but dirtier, disgusting. Images accompanied the feeling, and this time Lukas knew that what Emanuel wanted him to do was nothing so innocuous as touching him on the arm...

He drew back again in horror, slapping his heaviest shields up in automatic defence. "You can't be serious!" he blurted out, revolted. He was only fourteen, and this man was his teacher! That was even worse than what Sven and Ingrid did, he knew. Why, if the other instructors ever found out...

His mind suddenly flew back to the day when he'd run into Arun in the corridor outside this very room. He'd had the same feeling of uneasiness then, and what he'd seen in the boy's mind - horror, revulsion, self-loathing... He stared at the Greek man, shocked.

Emanuel didn't seem to have noticed his distress. He remained calm and collected, examining his nails as he sat in the chair as though he didn't have a care in the world. "Do you know what happens to a student who uses his powers against an Instructor, Lukas?" he asked casually, his tone purely conversational.

"The rest of the Instructors burn his mind out," he replied automatically, not sure what this had to do with anything. He shivered at the mere thought - he'd never seen it happen, though it had occurred a few times in the Institute's history. It was a spook-story, the kind of thing the younger kids passed around between themselves late at night in pitch-black dorms to scare each other - be good, or the Instructors will blow your mind out. He knew the method well enough; the offending student was tied to the Punishment Post in the courtyard, and all the other students were called to witness the event, as an example. Then the Instructors systematically destroyed the child's mind, from the surface downward, taking away Gifts, intelligence, rationality, even instinct, until the body was little more than a living corpse. Then they left it alone, only the autonomous functions remaining, until it died of dehydration some days later. It remained in the courtyard all that time, to remind the other students of the folly of rebellion. It was a harsh punishment, but an effective one - they rarely needed to use it, perhaps once in a generation.

"We will continue the exercise," Emanuel said blandly, as though he were discussing the weather. There was no hint of menace in his tone, but suddenly Lukas was terrified. The implied threat would be clear even to a non-telepath; do as he said, or Lukas would be punished. He knew better than to even think of telling any of the other Instructors - they would believe Emanuel over him, even Dekane. That alone might be enough grounds for punishment, he thought, shivering.

Agonized, he tried to decide what he should do. What he had seen in Emanuel's mind was disgusting, perverted - he wanted nothing to do with it. He knew Brad wouldn't mind his experimenting with a few of the other kids, but this! This was dirty, this was wrong. He saw in Emanuel's mind that HE would be dirty after doing this, or at least everyone would think so. No one would want him, certainly not someone like Brad. Suddenly Lukas understood why Arun had chosen the escape he had - once begun, death was the only way to escape the cycle.

And yet, what choice did he really have? He didn't think he had the strength of will to kill himself as Arun had; he was too afraid of death and what lay beyond it. Besides which, the Instructors would be triply diligent now, guarding against any other student trying the same thing. Arun had gotten away with it only because he'd caught them by surprise, moving too quickly for one of the telekinetics to stop him. And if he disobeyed - he shivered. Having his mind torn to shreds was an even less appealing prospect than what Emanuel wanted of him. And he had little doubt that Emanuel would carry through on his threat.

Reluctantly, fighting off the tears that insisted on welling up in his eyes no matter how he tried to will them away, he opened his shields again. The smirk on Emanuel's face and the self-satisfied feeling to his thoughts told him that the Instructor was well aware of his struggle and was enjoying it.

He followed the images in the man's mind exactly, knowing that the slightest deviation could be construed as disobedience. Moving slowly, he got down on his knees in front of the Instructor, and leaned forward to carefully undo the button fly of the man's old-fashioned trousers. His hands were shaking worse than they had been earlier, and he struggled not to let his emotions show on his face. There was a firm bulge beneath his fingers, and he could hear Emanuel's breath speed up when he brushed against it.

Giving up on his struggle with the tears, he ignored them as they streamed down his cheeks, and withdrew the hard cock from within the man's briefs. He wasn't a total innocent - he'd touched himself often enough, late at night in his bunk or when he was alone in the showers, usually thinking of Brad when he did it. He'd even listened in on the minds of two of the older boys once, fascinated as they screwed each other silly. The Instructors didn't try to keep them from having sex with each other, though the girls were temporarily sterilized to ensure there wouldn't be any accidents. They'd even stopped trying to keep Sven and Ingrid separated. Lukas vaguely remembered from his childhood that two men having sex was supposed to be evil for some reason, but such taboos were impractical here at the complex, where the boys so outnumbered the girls.

 _*Swallow it,*_ Emanuel instructed him, and his eyes widened. The dick in his hands was huge, and he was certain he wouldn't be able to take all of it without gagging. Hard pressure at the back of his head warned him not to take his time about it, and he closed his eyes and leaned forward, wrapping his lips around the disgusting thing with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

It was horrible, even worse than he'd feared - Emanuel apparently didn't wash there too frequently, and the taste was at least as bad as the smell. He choked as the hand on the back of his head forced him to take it all, the length hitting the back of his throat and triggering his gag reflex. He fought against it, feeling the bile rise in his throat and forcing it back down. Emanuel began to pump his hips back and forth, his mind radiating sick pleasure, and Lukas shielded himself in self-defence.

That proved to be a mistake - it meant he didn't pick up the next command, and the Instructor pulled away from him and slapped him harshly. "Pay attention!" he was berated, and he nodded miserably, opening his shields again.

He returned his lips to the man's erection, touching where Emanuel instructed him to touch, feeling sickened by the perverse pleasure the man felt. At last the hard length in his mouth twitched once, twice, and Emanuel's entire body tightened with release. He nearly choked again on the sticky fluid that streamed forth into his mouth, but a harsh mental warning from the older telepath made him swallow quickly.

He pulled away at last, covertly trying to wipe the awful taste from his mouth, thinking that was the end of it. Emanuel proved to have other ideas; he was ordered to strip and go to the table at the far side of the room. Miserable, he did so, hopping up to sit on the cold metal surface of the table and crossing his legs to train to maintain some semblance of dignity.

Emanuel forced him to lie back, and he shivered as the steel touched his overheated skin. He was flushed with shame, trembling with fear, as the man touched him all over. He was rough, not caring if he left bruises - all the kids always had bruises, their physical training was not particularly forgiving of mistakes. Lukas choked down a plea for mercy as the rough fingers tugged at his cock; he knew mercy was a concept foreign to the Greek telepath.

To his utter horror, he felt his body responding to the steady stroking, just as it did when he touched himself there. He fought down the sensations, frantic, but his body refused to listen to his mind. This was pleasurable, it insisted, and he was damn well going to lie there and like it.

He bit his lip until he tasted blood, hoping to distract himself, but it was no use. When he was hard and stiff and fully erect, the older telepath pulled away. He cried out despite himself, his body aching for the completion he'd been denied.

Then he cried out for a different reason, pain spiking through him as Emanuel took him with no preparation at all. It hurt, oh it hurt! He was too tight, Emanuel was too big for him, and it was tearing him apart. He could feel blood lubricating the forceful thrusts, and he turned his head to the side to avoid the sloppy kisses being forced on him. He didn't care at the moment that he might be punished for his defiance - all that mattered was the pain in his ass and in his soul.

His body went rigid, eyes wide and mouth gaping, as Emanuel suddenly forced his mind onto Lukas'. The sudden juxtaposition was overwhelming, making his muscles trembling with the signs of an oncoming Fit. He tried to choke out a denial, a warning, but couldn't get a sound past the tongue shoved down his throat - any attempt at mental coherency was blocked by the waves of incoming thoughts and emotions. He could feel Emanuel's pleasure at his tightness, feel the ecstasy building in the man's body, and felt it echo within his own body.

They came together, Emanuel's mind whispering to him all the while. _*You see, you liked it,*_ it said insidiously, crawling around inside his brain until he wanted to retch. _*You're a little whore, just like Arun was. He begged me for it, again and again, just like you're going to beg me for it. Your body wants this, little whore, even if your mind doesn't. You can't escape me - they won't believe you, and you won't be able to get away the way Arun did, the bastard. You're all mine, little one, mine for the taking. So you might as well just enjoy it, like your body wants you to.*_

Lukas screamed a protest, wishing desperately that someone would hear and come to his rescue, though he knew the room was just as well soundproofed as it was shielded. No one would hear. No one would believe. He was a little whore, the semen spattered over his stomach proved that. Brad would never want him now...

His mind blanked out, shutting down in defence against his own invidious thoughts. As he slipped away into the void, Lukas prayed for forgiveness - not from God, in whom he no longer believed, but from Brad, the only person who had ever truly cared for him.


	5. Chapter 5

Lukas left Emanuel's instruction room, feeling the familiar dull numbness settle over his mind. After three years it wasn't even an effort to disconnect his mind from his body any more. Oh, there were moments when it crashed over him, when the reality of the hell he was living in became inescapable, but for the most part his life had become dull routine. Get up, work out, go to breakfast, go to class, practice shooting and punching things, go to lunch, get fucked by Emanuel, work out more, eat dinner, go to the group telepathy class, study, go to bed. Repeat as necessary.

He snorted to himself. He was becoming cynical in his old age, he decided. What a shame, considering he was only barely seventeen. He knew the other Instructors had noted the change in him - he'd once been a bright, bubbly personality, a little reclusive due to his need to keep his mind separate from those around him, but fairly outgoing. They all attributed the change in his manner to Arun's death - after all, even though they hadn't been close, they HAD known literally everything about each other, up to a point. That sort of loss could be traumatizing enough to make a cheerful young boy turn into a sullen young man, they'd decided, and he'd never bothered to disabuse them of the notion. It wasn't worth the arguments - or the punishment he would inevitably have received.

He rarely even thought about Brad anymore, except to wonder what he would say to his old friend when the man came to find him after he'd graduated. "Sorry Brad, I can't help you - I'm too busy taking it up the ass from Emanuel." Or perhaps, "Sure, I'd love to help you screw the fuckers over - just hang on a sec while I pull my pants up."

Not that it would probably matter. Brad had loved him - if he HAD loved him, and that last whisper hadn't just been a product of Lukas' own imagination - with the uncomplicated passion of an eighteen-year-old for the only friend he'd ever had. Really, Lukas had been so young then, it had probably been more affection than lust. Unless, of course, Brad had been as sick as Emanuel, but Lukas didn't think so. At least, he didn't like to think so. By the time Lukas graduated, Brad probably would have found real love, or at least have realized that someone he'd known five years previously as a scrawny little thirteen-year-old was hardly the person he wanted by his side for the rest of his life.

Besides, the truth was, Lukas was beaten. He just didn't have the strength of will to go up against the authority of the Institute, as evidenced by his continued uncomplaining abasement to Emanuel. What the hell would Brad want with a whiny, pathetic little whore like him?

Briefly, and not for the first time, he contemplated taking the same escape Arun had chosen. He was certain he could get around the Instructors' precautions against attempted suicides - after all, he was the only student in the complex who could shield himself well enough that the Instructors couldn't find him. All he had to do was find a gun or sharp knife, and an out of the way place...

He shook his head and sighed. To the best of his knowledge, he was Emanuel's only playtoy. The man preferred to concentrate his efforts on one person at a time. If Lukas killed himself, the bastard would turn to one of the younger telepaths to ease his 'needs', just as he had turned to Lukas when Arun had died. Lukas found that he was unwilling to subject another of the telepaths to such a horror. He was already dirty, already used - let him take the abuse, and leave the others innocent. Of course, when he graduated Emanuel would likely choose another, but at least he could spare them as long as possible.

He paused at the junction of the corridors, picking up on a feeling of unease and fear in the air. Sending out his mental 'feelers', he probed around him for the cause. One of the telekinetic Instructors hurried by him, and he picked the man's mind clean in the few seconds it took him to pass by. This one thing he could be proud of - he was still the best fucking telepath in the Institute, past or present, maybe the best in the whole world.

His cat-green eyes widened as he sorted through the information he'd picked up from the Instructor's mind. One of the Institute's larger enclaves of psychic soldiers had been bombed during an important meeting, taking out the entire Asian force in one critical blow. Japan, China, Korea, eastern Russia, Vietnam, Thailand, and countless other countries were now without agents - the Institute was blind, deaf, and helpless in those areas until they could replace the field agents. There were only two people currently ready to graduate, Lukas knew - either they were going to have to sit on their asses for several years and pray no one marched in through the massive hole in their spynet, or they were going to have to graduate some of the students early and spread their experienced officers thin.

He bolted for Dekane's office, already picking up the telepathic murmur from the Instructors that classes were suspended for the rest of the day. Dekane was still his favourite Instructor, the one he went to whenever he had a problem - at least, any problems that weren't related to Emanuel. If anyone would give him the straight story, it would be Dekane.

He skidded to a halt in the half-open doorway, catching Dekane's eye where he was pacing back and forth in front of three of the other Instructors. Dekane motioned for him to come in and close the door behind him, and he did so.

"Lukas, I had a feeling you'd show up first. And I'm sure you already know the problem." Lukas nodded, and Dekane grunted. "You and five of the others are being sent out to cover the gaps. We're moving as many experienced personnel out there as fast as we can free them from their current assignments, but we're going to be spread thin for a long while to come. Too many holes, and not enough people to plug 'em. So you and the others are going to have to be on your toes out there, understand?"

Lukas nodded, picking up what Dekane hadn't said. Some of the Instructors were being sent out as well - all of the advanced trainers, including Dekane himself. Lukas was pleased to realize that meant Emanuel wouldn't have a chance to get at the younger telepaths when Lukas left; he would likely be shipped out with the others. With all the top students graduated early, there would be no one at the Institute who would require his specialized training abilities for some years to come.

"You're going to be going to Japan, Lukas," Dekane continued, and Lukas blinked. He knew only a smattering of Japanese, mostly swear words, picked up from the Japanese clairvoyant Hideaki. It was going to be difficult for a redheaded, green-eyed Caucasian with no sense of the language or customs to get by in a country that was so politely hostile to all foreigners. Dekane nodded, seeing the look on his face. "Yes, it will be difficult, but I'm sure you'll manage. I'll be accompanying you, and the Institute has arranged for a non-psychic interpreter to meet us there. Go pack your bags for a field trip - we're leaving in an hour."

An hour. Not much warning, but then graduates rarely got warning. It had been a minor miracle that Brad had been able to find him in time to say goodbye, that day so many years ago. It felt like another lifetime; he'd certainly been a different person then. He nodded, and spun on his heel to head for the barracks at doubletime. This was his chance to get out of here, at long last! He certainly wasn't going to do something stupid like miss his plane.

He had his bag packed in minutes. Everyone older than fifteen always had a field bag mostly packed - everything but rations and clean clothes. The Instructors loved to take them on surprise overnight trips, sometimes as much as a week long, and usually gave them only five minutes or less to ready themselves. Anyone who was caught short enjoyed a miserable few days with no food or equipment of any kind. The Instructors were not forgiving of mistakes.

Hefting his duffle with all his worldly possessions - a gun, a knife set balanced for his hands, ammo, a week's worth of clean underwear and two changes of uniform, razor, toothbrush, and a couple of textbooks - he glanced around the room for the last time. He expected to feel nostalgic, or maybe even a little homesick; this was, after all, the only home he could remember having. He found that he had no particular attachment to it after all. It had only been a place to live while he learned everything the Institute had to teach him, and now he was going to put that knowledge to use. Grunting, he shifted his bag to his back and left the room without a second glance.

 

* * *

The next two weeks were a flurry of frenzied activity. No one seemed to know if they were coming or going, and it was as disorganized as if one of the first-year students had been running it. Lukas learned several new sets of swear words just from listening to Dekane deal with the officials of the various countries they had to pass through.

Free of Emanuel's influence at long last, his original personality was slowly beginning to emerge. He knew Dekane had noticed the change, but the firearms Instructor declined to comment on it, probably (rightly) figuring that Lukas wouldn't offer any kind of explanation. He revelled in the freedom to be himself again, and slowly started to believe that maybe life didn't have it out for him after all.

The end of the two weeks saw them settled in Japan, having received a hasty briefing from the harried agent who had been covering the island nation until they arrived. Lukas was amazed to discover what a hotbed of corruption and iniquity Tokyo was - most of the major underworld Yakuza lords were also prominent politicians, funding their campaigns with dirty money. They had half the police force and most of the judges in their pockets, and had no fear of being brought to justice for their actions.

"This first assignment won't be difficult for you," Dekane explained as they unpacked their bags of equipment. Short-handed the Institute might have been, but under-equipped it was not - they had everything from a tiny two-shooter semiautomatic to grenade launchers. "More of a test run. The brass is doing the best they can to break you in easy, despite the fact that they need us on the job as quickly as possible." He flashed a grin at the German boy. "Never let it be said that the Institute doesn't take care of its own," he added heartily.

Lukas nodded, and finished stowing the last of the ammo in its padded cases. He turned to the small table on the other side of the room. On it laid a slim file folder, which Dekane had received from a courier just a few minutes before. It contained all the information they should need to carry out their first assignment. He felt excitement building in his chest, and pushed it down firmly. He knew enough about mind control to keep his emotions from carrying him away, and he wanted to be perfectly clearheaded for this, his very first real assignment.

"No guns on this one," Dekane said, seeing the direction of his glance and putting away the last of his own gear. The rueful tone of his voice matched the disappointed look in Lukas' eyes, and they grinned at each other for a moment, brought together by their mutual love of guns. "The security is too damn tight. This is a simple hit-and-run, the target is a politician who's been snooping around too close to the Institute's areas of influence. He's suspected to have been in on the bombing that took out our Eastern agents."

He flipped open the folder and motioned Lukas over. The lanky German boy draped himself into one of the chairs, studying the pictures intently. They showed a well-appointed ballroom, full of the kind of casual elegance and luxury common to the wealthy. Exorbitantly dressed men and women were also in the photos, and many had suspiciously beefy men lurking in the background near them. They had so many muscles they couldn't cross their arms properly, Lukas noted with amusement, though all of them seemed determined to try. "Bodyguards," he concluded, and Dekane nodded.

"Good, you're on the ball. Yes, most of them have at least one or two bodyguards, in addition to the hotel's security. That's why no guns. We could sneak them in as a last resort, but it's not necessary. The kill will go to you by preference - to get your feet wet, so to speak."

He blinked. "No guns, no knives either I assume..." he paused and Dekane nodded confirmation. "Presumably we're not to be noticed making the hit, so... I'm to take out the target telepathically?"

He bit his lip and looked down at the pictures again when Dekane nodded once more. He knew the theory behind killing someone telepathically - you just overloaded them with projected thoughts and images until their mind blew out. He had just begun learning the technique with Emanuel in the last few months, practicing first on rats and mice and slowly moving up to larger and more intelligent animals. Ordinarily the Institute arranged for people who wouldn't be missed to act as the final test subjects for those particular lessons, but Lukas' graduation had been so rushed that he'd never gotten a chance to try it. When it came right down to it, he'd never killed another person, telepathically or otherwise.

He felt a moment of unease, but dismissed it. Of course he could do it - it was what he'd been training all his life to do. What was the life of one pathetic little Normal, scurrying about his world blind and deaf to the larger possibilities around him? Lukas had been one of the best students at the Institute, and he was determined to be one of the best field agents, as well. He fixed his normal sarcastic little grin firmly in place, telling himself firmly to dismiss his misgivings.

"I never did know," he said musingly, looking up at Dekane. "What is your Gift?"

Dekane barked with laughter. "Straightforward, aren't you? Well, at least I know I can always count on you to get right to the point. I'm a precognitive, but my range is short as shit. Can barely see past the end of my own nose - mostly just gives me a sense for when I'm in a bad situation. I was a disappointment to the Institute - until they discovered my secondary Gift, if it is one. An affinity for firearms like none they'd ever seen. I did a few years as a minor field agent, then they set me to training you kids."

He paused, then continued more seriously, "Lukas, I'm sure I don't need to tell you that you were always my favourite student. I know you, you probably picked it out of my head day one. A teacher waits a lifetime for one student who shares their joy, their love of their craft, as well as their talent at it. Some teachers never find that one prodigy. I've had lots of kids who were excellent shots, some even better than you. But you're the first I've had that understood the art behind it." Lukas blinked at him in shock as he drew breath. "I never had children, though the Institute encourages us to do so - psychics often breed true, and it means they have the children from birth to train. But if I'd had a son, I would have wanted one just like you, boy."

He clapped a heavy hand on Lukas' shoulder. The seventeen-year-old sat there, wide-eyed, staring at his teacher. He tried to speak, choked, and tried again. "Thanks," he muttered, blushing and staring down at the table in embarrassment.

Dekane nodded briskly, then stood. "We'll say no more about it," he replied, and Lukas knew that he meant it literally. The subject would never be raised again, and if he tried to bring it up he would be rebuffed. The Institute did not allow close relationships between its agents, and that was the end of that. But it instilled in him a burning desire to always make this man proud of him, proud to think of him as a son.

 

* * *

Lukas circulated through the crowd, feeling distinctly out of place. The well-dressed men and women around him moved in little cliques, drifting from one circle to another without effort. Everyone seemed to know everyone else, and he, as the newcomer, was not welcome.

He stood out like a sore thumb, towering over almost everyone in the room and all but shining in the lights with his pale skin, carrot orange hair and emerald eyes. There were a few other foreigners in the room, but they were all well known and accepted. To make matters worse, he barely spoke the language at all, and was clearly uncomfortable in the constricting black tie evening clothes. After twelve years of loose-fitting uniforms designed for combat, the restrictive shirt, bowtie and cummerbund were disconcerting.

Across the room he spotted Dekane with their interpreter, speaking to a cluster of grey-haired gentlemen. They'd been here for half an hour, and still hadn't spotted the target yet, a Nishimura Seiichiro, wealthy scion of Tokyo and prominent politician. Lukas was beginning to be bored as well as uncomfortable, and he silently urged the man to hurry up and get there so they could get this over with.

As if answering his mental summons, he spotted Nishimura entering through the grand double doors, his wife on one arm in a pretty evening gown. _*Target at three o'clock,*_ he projected at Dekane.

 _*I see him,*_ the older man replied. He had no projective ability whatsoever, but Lukas was more than strong enough to pick up the thought from his mind. _*He's heading for the boardroom - what's he planning?*_

Lukas took a moment to sift through the man's easily accessible surface thoughts. _*He's late for a meeting with five of the other men,*_ he replied excitedly. _*It's something to do with the Institute, but he's carefully not thinking about the details. Do you think he knows we're here?*_

Dekane considered it while excusing himself from the conversation to drift after their target. _*No, I think they've just learned the hard way that even thinking about the Institute sometimes brings them down on your head,*_ he answered smugly. Lukas shadowed his mentor, half a room away. _*That's perfect - we'll wait until he's in there, then you can strike. Check the others' minds as well, and if they're involved get them too. The brass will be pleased.*_

Lukas felt a tingle. If he could take out several of their opponents tonight, instead of the single target that had been projected, it would look VERY good for him. And Dekane would be proud of him, surely. He quickened his step, not so much that his haste was noticeable to those around him, but wanting to be certain to reach the boardroom at the same time as Dekane.

They 'ran into' each other just outside the oak panelled doors, in a pre-arranged 'discovery' of another English-speaking party-goer. They chattered away about inconsequential things, Lukas devoting only a fraction of his attention to the conversation. The rest of his powerful mind was ranging into the room beyond them, searching for meaning in the ever-shifting thoughts and emotions of those within.

 _*They're definitely discussing the Institute and the bombing, but I can't make heads or tails of it without going deeper into their minds,*_ he finally told Dekane in frustration. _*They're speaking in some kind of code, and they're even thinking in it! I can pry it out of them, but it will take time and the others will realize there's something wrong.*_

 _*Don't bother,*_ Dekane instructed him. _*They're involved, that's all we need to know. Blow them out, Lukas.*_

Still chatting about the abominable way foreigners were treated, Lukas let his mind sink deeper into the target's. He would focus on the primary target, and let the backwash deal with the others. That way if any of them DID escape, it wouldn't be the one they were actually after. He drifted past images of the man's wife and family, home and business, burrowing into the very depths of his psyche. Slowly, he began to exert pressure - too fast and the death would be investigated for foul play, too slow and the man would realize something was wrong and fight back, but if he could get it just right, it would look and act just like an apoplexy or an aneurysm...

He found himself drifting within the man's thoughts, being caught up in random strings of words and emotion. He struggled to center himself, steadying his breathing as Emanuel had taught him and focusing on his goal. Still the mind he was in tugged at him - this was the deepest he had ever been in a human's mind, and he was losing himself. Frantic, he tried to pull back and discovered he was trapped.

 _*Dekane!*_ he projected, panicked. _*He's overwhelming me!*_

 _*Steady, Lukas, don't lose control now.*_ Dekane seemed unconcerned with the possibility that Lukas might be the one blown out, instead of the target. Lukas told himself that he was worrying over nothing, and forced himself to concentrate. The pressure against him eased a bit, and he took a deeper breath and tried again.

The strain built in the man's mind, and Lukas felt him reach up and press a hand to his temple as if attempting to stave off a headache. Lukas gave a morbid little smile, wishing him luck. This was quite literally going to be the headache to end all headaches. He pushed a little harder, and found the memories and thoughts enveloping him again.

His physical eyes widened and went glassy, and he knew he'd dropped the inane conversation with Dekane when his instructor hastily steered him to a seat along the wall and guided him down. He vaguely heard the older psychic explaining that his 'friend' had had a bit too much punch, but he ignored the outside stimulus in his struggle to retain himself.

He sent the backwash over the rest of the men in the room, and that helped a little. Now they had to deal with the foreign memories instead of him - they were confused at the flood of alien images, but it wouldn't matter in a moment, because they'd all be dead. He pushed harder, and felt the first synapses start to collapse beneath his mind.

It was an ugly process, he reflected with the part of him that wasn't occupied by the morbid task. He hoped he wouldn't have to kill this way very often. In fact, it was downright distressing - he could feel his own heartbeat speeding up to match his victim's, felt his breath coming short and his eyes roll back in his head.

More images streamed past him, as he was force-fed the man's entire life and personality. Horribly, he began to realize that they'd made a mistake - this man hadn't been involved in the bombing at all. He WAS investigating the Institute, as were all the others in the room, but it was a benign investigation. They were all related - the main target had a son currently attending the Institute, whom he had given up some years before. He had since regretted the decision, and was expending all of his considerable power and influence tracking the boy down. Why, he was Hideaki's father! They were speaking in code because the Institute had already made two not-so-subtle attempts to end the investigation, and they feared, rightly so, that the next attempt would be fatal.

 _*Dekane!*_ he called again, desperately trying to pull his mind free of the target's. _*We were wrong. They weren't involved with the bombing at all! They're Hideaki's family - you know, the Japanese clairvoyant. They're searching for him, that's all!*_ It was like pulling himself free of molasses - he kept slipping backwards, trapped momentarily by a particularly vivid image or thought.

 _*Take them out, Lukas,*_ Dekane responded firmly. Lukas projected shock, and was cut off harshly. _*No one goes back to their families. You know that. We have no ties to the outside world, no ties to anything but the Institute. They're not Hideaki's family - WE are. They gave him up legally, and they have been warned not to search for him now.*_

 _*You knew!*_ Lukas realized, stunned. He felt sickened, his stomach churning in time with the turmoil in his mind. _*You knew they weren't the bombers...*_

 _*Take them out,*_ came the implacable command, and Dekane's mental Voice was as hard as steel. Lukas abruptly realized that this was his true test - a test of loyalty to the Institute, to discover if he would follow ANY order.

For a long moment he debated it. He was loyal to the Institute, he really was! But these people had done nothing wrong. Surely they could be persuaded to leave off without killing them! But if he didn't kill them... what would become of him? Could he really kill them in cold blood, tear their minds apart from the inside out knowing that their only crime was the love of their relative?

He tried again to pull free, unable to think with the cacophony of their minds inside his head, and discovered that he was unable to budge. While he'd been thinking, his mind had been sinking deeper and deeper into the man's psyche, and now he was thoroughly trapped.

Panicked, he struggled to get out, not caring any more that he was doing damage with his mental flailing. He opened his physical eyes, and discovered to his horror that he was seeing through Nishimura's eyes, instead of his own. He was losing himself, the edges between his personality and Nishimura's blurring with every moment he spent in the businessman's head. It was just like when he'd been trapped in Arun's mind, only worse because he was so much more powerful now.

With a scream that might have come from Nishimura, or Lukas, or both, he ripped his way free. Nishimura's body flopped about like a fish out of water, and the backlash caught most of the others in the room. A second circle of mental anguish spread from Lukas in the main ballroom, swamping Dekane and half a dozen others who'd gathered around. He couldn't stop projecting, couldn't get his shields up to harbour him from the chaotic panic around him - his mind picked it up, amplified it, and sent it back out again. In moments the entire crowd was stampeding for the doors, terrified for their lives but uncertain just what the source of the fear was. Many were trampled in the jam at the doors, and everyone was screaming.

Every new injury, every fresh death, sent him spinning further into the abyss. It was worse than it had ever been, worse than when he'd taken Fits as a child to escape the pressure of the minds around him. Even that way out was blocked to him now - he was too caught by the pain and fear around him to lose himself in the void. His physical body jerked and convulsed, his mind screaming for help but his throat too raw now to voice the sounds.

Instinctively he clapped his hands over his ears, as though that would somehow keep the mental noise out. In a last desperate attempt to save himself from total insanity, he sent the most powerful psychic wave he could produce blasting outwards from himself. Those still trapped in the room fell before his mental scream, their minds blown to pieces by his Gift. Finally, finally, as everyone either escaped through the doors or fell, unconscious or dead, from his psychic attack, his mind quieted enough to allow him to fall into the oblivion he so desperately needed.


	6. Chapter 6

He would never know how he managed to get away without the police or paramedics finding him. He would never know a lot of things about what had happened that day. Later he would be able to piece together vague memories of people screaming and running, of seeing the face of a man on the ground before him, bleeding from mouth, nose, eyes and ears. Later he would remember stumbling out in a daze, being confronted with dozens of bodies. He never knew if they were dead or just knocked out.

For days he wandered, helpless and childlike, unable to really comprehend anything around him. He was beaten and mugged at least once, possibly several times. After a few days his fancy clothes were little more than rags - he was barefoot and grungy, and looked like a wild child. He mumbled brokenly in German, staring blankly at anyone who spoke to him until they gave up and went away.

That was how they found him, wandering around in the alleys of Tokyo. At first he thought he was going to be mugged again, and he absently braced himself for the pain. But the expected punches and kicks didn't come - instead he felt gentle and not-so-gentle touches, turning his face this way and that, rubbing a lock of his hair between rough fingers to get rid of some of the dirt.

Several male voices argued over him, as he sat uncaring in the filth of the alley, staring blankly ahead. They kept touching his skin and hair, and tilting his face up to see his eyes better, but he ignored them. The only thing that he could see were the bodies piled around him, his fault though he didn't know why or how. He just knew that he had caused all that pain and suffering, that he was responsible somehow. He was guilty.

"Oi. Oi! Namae wa?"

He stared at the man who was shaking him, feeling his teeth rattle. The words were like everything else he heard - meaningless babble. The man grunted and gave him a harsh slap across the cheek, as if to wake him up. "Anta teba! Nanda namae wa?"

Vaguely he got the impression they were asking his name. He answered with the only word he seemed to have left.

"Schuldig," he told them. Guilty, I am guilty. It's all my fault. "Schuldig."

"Shyuudehi?" the speaker tried, slurring the German word almost beyond recognition. "Namae wa Shyuudehi?"

"Schuldig," he agreed, staring down at a puddle at his feet. Roughly they hauled him to his feet, herding him along in front of them. He kept repeating the word over and over to himself, his voice rusty with days, perhaps weeks of disuse. Schuldig. Guilty. It was all the name he needed, he supposed. It certainly fit him, and he couldn't seem to remember any other name he might once have had. He let them lead him, uncaring as to his fate.

Thereafter time passed by in the daze of a living nightmare. It might have been days, it might have been months - he wasn't sure and didn't care. He was led about like an infant, bathed and dressed, forced to eat, and used in the crudest way possible for his 'rescuers' pleasure. He performed like an automaton, distant and detached from his surroundings. Vaguely he had the thought that he might have been in a similar situation to this once before, but he couldn't remember where or who.

He might have continued to drift forever, if not for the voices. At first he thought it was just the souls of those he'd killed come back to haunt him, but slowly he realized that there was more substance to them than that. Sometimes they were loud, sometimes quiet; sometimes there were many, sometimes only a few. They were stronger when he was being used, and rougher. When he was brought to the place where he slept, they were timid and frightened. They called out to him, crowding him into a tiny corner of his mind to escape them at times. Occasionally they even crowded him out of that small space, and he would blank out and be unaware of even the hazy events he could comprehend.

When he finally came back to himself, it was an abrupt process, like waking from a dream to sudden reality. He found himself waist deep in scented water, strands of hair tickling his cheeks and the back of his neck as a middle-aged oriental woman shampooed him. He blinked, and looked up at her in confusion.

"Where...?" he croaked out, his voice harsh and nasal from disuse and abuse. She looked back at him, astonished, her hands buried in suds on top of his head. "Where am I?" he managed to get out at last. She stared at him in incomprehension, so he tried again in German. "Wo bin ich?" When she still didn't respond, he tried the little Japanese he knew. "Doko ni?"

"Kami-sama, you're awake!" she finally exclaimed, mouth falling open in shock. He was startled to realize that he understood her easily - he must have absorbed the language during his time drifting in a dream. "We all thought you'd been brain damaged!"

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath, centring himself and searching his memories and thoughts. Everything was hazy, and he couldn't reach past the memory of dead (unconscious?) bodies sprawled out at his feet. His mind flinched away from the image, and he didn't try to force the issue, lest he go catatonic again. "I don't know," he replied honestly, feeling the beginnings of a throbbing headache. "Who are you? Where am I? WHO am I?"

She finally seemed to realize that she was still standing with her hands buried in his hair, covered in shampoo and with him naked in the tub. She disentangled herself, and gently guided him to lie back so she could pour water over his hair to rinse it. He obeyed with an ease that told him this was not the first time he had been washed in this manner.

"We all just call you Schuldig," she finally answered him after a moment's thought. He frowned.

"That's not my name." He didn't know what his name WAS, but he knew that wasn't it. What mother would name her child 'guilty'? At least, he thought that was what she was trying to say. Her accent mangled the German word badly.

"That's the only word you would say for the first two weeks," she told him, helping him sit up again and proffering a towel. He took it and stood, wrapping it around his waist and flushing at his nudity. "After that you wouldn't say anything at all. We had to call you something, the Master decided it was as good as anything else."

He glanced at her sharply, forgetting for a moment his nudity. "Master?" he repeated, not liking the sound of that.

She shrugged and handed him another towel for his hair. He noticed for the first time that she was nude as well, save for a leather collar and silver pendant at her throat. Raising his hand, he found a similar collar around his own neck, the weight of the pendant so familiar against his collarbones that he hadn't even noticed it.

She said nothing, but a sudden flash of images and emotions assaulted him; whips and chains, pain and pleasure, humility and subservience. He staggered, made dizzy by the onslaught, and she steadied him hastily. The visions gained in intensity when she touched him, and he saw himself as if from another's point of view, crouched down before a man dressed in silks and leathers, mouth wrapped around the man's erection as another took him from behind. He gagged, and suppressed the urge to throw up by force of will.

"NEIN!" he shouted, repulsed. Startled, the woman backed away from him, obviously afraid he was going to become violent. He clutched his head and tried to sort out the conflicting emotions and thoughts streaming through his mind. He was startled to realize how long his hair was - shouldn't it have been much shorter?

"How long have I been here?" he demanded of her roughly.

"About six months," she replied, frightened. He towered over her and outweighed her by half again as many kilos, and she was terrified of him. Somehow he knew her thoughts, could feel them flowing through his mind like a stream of water against his skin. "Please, you must let me help you dress. The Master is waiting for you, and he doesn't like to be kept waiting!" _*Surely he won't punish me for being slow, not with the boy behaving like this!*_ her mind whimpered at him, her panic reverberating against his mind like a chord struck on a badly tuned piano.

He allowed her to lead him into the next room, heavily scented with sandalwood and jasmine. She sat him on a soft couch and patted his hair dry, then proceeded to comb out all the tangles for him. She used a small hairdryer to finish the job, as he sat silently trying to figure out what was going on.

He could hear her thought process as she worked, chattering on in disjointed bits until he thought he would be dizzy again. Feeling himself slipping away under the force of her personality, he reached out for something to steady him, and found dozens of other minds pressing against his.

There were many people in the building, and there didn't seem to be a limit to how far out he could reach, either. Of course, he didn't try going very far - he pulled back into himself before they could overwhelm him, trembling. Frightened, he envisioned a thick wall between himself and the pushing minds, and to his relief he found himself cut off from their influence once more.

Telepathy. He knew without knowing how he knew that the word for what he was doing was 'telepathy'. He was a telepath - someone who could read other people's thoughts and emotions. Somewhere along the way someone must have taught him how to block his mind away from others, taught him to imagine that wall falling into place. It was a crude defence and far from perfect, but it was better than nothing. He thought that he might have known how to control it better, once, but no matter how he strained he couldn't remember the techniques.

The woman moved to brush lightly scented oil over his skin, and he stopped her with a hard hand on her wrist. She jumped, startled by his sudden movement when he'd been sitting so still. "Don't," he told her, eying the rest of the assortment of cosmetics and perfumes she'd laid out while he wasn't paying attention. "What's your name, anyway?"

"This humble one is called Hana," she answered him in stiffly formal language. "You must wear the scents and powders! The Master commands it!"

His mouth twitched, pulling downwards into a frown. "He may be your Master, lady, but he ain't mine. He can go fuck himself for all I care." He heard the words coming from his mouth as though they originated from someone else - he hadn't meant to be so harsh with her. His mouth was on autopilot, his sarcastic facade coming to the front to protect him, just as it always had.

Just as it always had? He had to examine that thought for a moment. Yes, the sarcasm and roughness felt familiar, comfortable, like a shield that he had often placed between himself and the world. He was frightened, uncertain, and this was apparently how he'd learned to deal with those emotions.

For her part, she looked terrified again, and he caught the idea that she was afraid she would be punished for his rebellion by this 'Master' of theirs. He sighed. "Look, just find me some clothes, okay? Then I'll go deal with this guy, and I'll make sure you don't get in trouble."

She nodded and scurried over to a wardrobe he hadn't noticed before, her eyes firmly on the ground. _*Surely the Master won't blame me,*_ she thought to herself, and he picked it up without even trying. _*Not with the boy acting this way! It's not my fault. Surely...*_ She turned and proffered the armful of silk she'd pulled out of the drawers, still not looking at him.

He picked it up and shook it out, and stared in disbelief. The diaphanous creation of silk and velvet he held would have been at home on the set of a movie about an Arabian harem - soft and sheer, the pants would leave almost nothing to the imagination. "No way!" he exclaimed, making a harsh sound of rejection. "I'm not wearing this! For crying out loud, it's see-through!"

She cowered subserviently before him. "The Master commands it," she whimpered, her mind gibbering in fear. He grimaced and imagined the wall a little thicker, trying to block her out.

He growled, seeing that even if she'd wanted to, she couldn't give him something more decent to wear. "Fine," he gritted out reluctantly. "I'll wear the bloody thing. Get out of here - go tell your Master he's got one hell of a pissed off camper that wants to talk to him." He wasn't sure the idiom made any sense to her, but she seemed to get the idea of what he wanted. She was out the door before he'd even stood to unwrap the towel from his waist.

The pantaloons were even worse than he'd thought - the crotch was missing, granting easy access to his ass and cock. There was nothing he could do about it, though; he decided to tough it out, rather than go out with a towel around his waist and appear at a disadvantage. He stormed out the door, letting his fury build with each step and boil over in his famous redhead's temper.

At the end of a long hallway was a metal and wooden door, standing slightly ajar. He could hear the sound of conversation beyond it, and the mental din was even more cacophonous than the audible one. He had to steady himself with a hand on the wall for a moment, caught up in the waves of pain and humiliation pounding over him. He pulled his imaginary wall in closer around him, and though it didn't block everything, it did help. Straightened, he strode through the door as though he owned the place.

It took him less than a moment to identify the 'Master' - the man lorded it over his guests and slaves like some mediaeval baron, perched in a gilded throne on a raised dais. Three beautiful young teens languished at his feet, two women and a man. Given the outfits they wore, it was clear he'd been meant to complete the foursome.

The Master arched an eyebrow at him when he didn't come any closer, and gestured for the crowd around him to get out of the way. They parted, giving him a clear view of the man's feet for the first time - Hana was crouched there, head to the floor in abasement and dark red welts rising on her back. The whip in the Master's hand was evidence enough of the source of the wounds. He scowled.

"So, the dreamer awakes at last," the man chuckled, his baritone smooth and sonorous. The people gathered around him chuckled as well, turning to eye him speculatively. He felt his cheeks burn, but held his ground, keeping his eyes steady on the man's gaze. "And it would seem he is displeased with his situation. Join us, Schuldig, and we shall talk."

He waited just long enough to make it clear that he was going because he wanted to, not because he'd been ordered to. Then he paced forward, keeping his gaze locked on the Master's, not allowing himself to be distracted by the press of people and minds around him as he passed through the crowd. "Who the fuck are you?" he growled at last, planting his feet shoulder width apart and clenching his fists.

The man smiled lazily. "The only name you need for me is 'Master', boy," he replied indolently. "You are my pet, my slave, after all."

"I am no one's slave," he snarled in return, furious. "You're one hell of a sick fucker, taking advantage of a guy who's completely unaware of what's going on around him. Real big of you."

The leather-clad man shrugged, unconcerned by the vitriolic accusations being flung at him. "I found you dirty, starving and beaten in a filthy alley. You wouldn't have lived another week, most likely. I took you in, cleaned you, dressed you, fed you, cared for you. All I asked in return was a few simple services that you didn't object to providing."

"Well, I'm objecting now!" he shot back. A muscle in his jaw was twitching as he clenched his teeth together, waiting for the response.

"So?" The man shrugged again. "You are, of course, free to leave. The door to the outside is that way." He gestured, and the crowd parted again to reveal the door. Not quite trusting the magnanimous gesture, but unwilling to lower his wall lest he be overwhelmed again, he edged away from the cleared space before the throne, heading for the door.

Two massive bruisers blocked his path almost immediately, and he sense four more closing in on him from behind. A trap, then, or perhaps a test - he gathered from the thoughts that penetrated his wall that if he could defeat these men, the Master would lose face because of it, and he would have a chance to get free for real. He pretended not to notice the four men behind him, concentrating on the two before him as his body settled into a familiar defensive stance.

The first man lunged at him, and his body whipped around in a spinning kick to the gut. He found that if he just disconnected his mind and let his body do the fighting, it was much easier. He punched the second man in the nose hard enough to break it, feeling eerily detached from himself. He could feel the crowd's astonishment at his sudden fighting prowess, and smirked inwardly.

It was obvious that he'd had extensive training somewhere - his body moved like a snake's, striking without warning and twisting easily away from any attacks. The four goons at his back moved in on him when the first two faltered, crowding him from all sides. He kicked one in the balls and leapfrogged over him when he doubled over, smashing his foot into the next one's face. He felt a fierce joy overcome him, a love of fighting, of physical exertion - his or theirs, he really wasn't sure. He spun again to see a punch being aimed at him. Automatically he reached out with his mind and twisted, altering the man's perception of him. The punch whistled harmlessly by his ear, and his opponent looked shocked.

Laughing, he reached out again, to all of them, and danced through the flurry of blows and kicks as though in a mad ballet. They couldn't see him, couldn't focus on where he was, a he blurred their perception of the world around them with his power. It was too easy, too simple...

He had only a split second's warning, the brush of a malicious thought across his mind. Too late, he spun and tried to duck, but the Master's whip caught him squarely across the cheek, stunning him. He lost his concentration abruptly, and was tackled from two sides by the musclemen.

Pinned now, he struggled wildly against his captors, flailing with little grace and no finesse. Whatever training it was that his body remembered, it abandoned him now to the tender mercies of the men who were determined to pay him back tenfold for every injury he'd dealt them. To make matters worse, the skin-to-skin contact sent their minds surging into his, washing over him with their joy in his pain and making him gag at their pleasure.

"Enough!" the Master called, and they backed away. He curled into a little ball on the floor, only then aware that he was sobbing raggedly. The man knelt next to him and placed a coil of the whip under his chin, tilting his face up. "Now you see the futility of rebellion, Schuldig," he whispered, his voice low and intimate. His mind was filled with sick satisfaction, making him retch again as he tried futilely to pull his mind away. "Do be a good boy now, won't you?"

He gestured to his henchmen, who picked up the sobbing seventeen-year-old by his arms, dangling him between them. "Do as you like with him, but don't damage him permanently," he instructed them, smiling beatifically at their captive. "Schuldig, I do hope this will be the only lesson in humility you need. You've been such a good slave this far, I'd hate to lose you."

He struggled as they dragged him over to a set of dangling chains, but it was useless. They were much stronger than he was, and he could barely think through the pounding of their minds on his. They wrapped the chains around his wrists and forearms, securing them with small padlocks that clicked shut with an awful sound of finality. They hauled the chains upward with some sort of pulley system, locking his ankles in place as well. The wrapped a third chain around his waist, adjusting all three until he was bent over at the waist at a ninety degree angle, his arms wrenched up painfully above his head and his ass stuck out for easy access. He continued to thrash about, unwilling to submit quietly to what they were doing, cursing and swearing at them in every language he knew.

They forced a ball gag into his mouth, pinching his nose shut until he had to open his mouth to breath. A leather hood was pulled over his face, zipping up at the back of his head so that it enclosed him snugly. There were no eyeholes, and he could see nothing but the black leather or the even darker insides of his eyes. He felt the harsh sting of a whip against his back, and gave a muffled cry as he jerked away from the pain.

Someone slapped him, then grabbed him roughly by the shoulders to hold him in place. The whip cracked over him again and again, until he could feel blood trickling down over his ribs from the open cuts. He screamed as something penetrated him painfully from behind, mind writhing away from the disgusting pleasure the men took in his agony.

Tears streamed down over his cheeks though he tried to suppress them, not wanting to give them the satisfaction. The man behind him rutted away, uncaring or perhaps even unaware of the tears he was causing in his lust. The pain distracted him from his efforts to build his wall higher, tearing away at the foundations he'd already laid and opening him to their influence.

He choked on the gag as the waves of lust slammed over him, bringing his cock erect and dripping even as he mentally begged for them to stop. The first man climaxed, sending another wave of sick pleasure through his system, and a second man immediately took his place.

He didn't know how many times they had him - at some point they removed the gag and forced him to take them orally as well - but it stretched on for an endless time. His walls completely destroyed, he was helpless against the onslaught of their lust, experiencing every jolt and twitch of pleasure right along with them. Distantly he heard them laughing, exclaiming over his body's reaction. Sickened, he tried to find the void, the blackness that he knew was out there somewhere to shelter him. He couldn't shut his mind off, couldn't escape the sensations pouring over him in suffocating intensity. Frantically he sought the dazed dream state that had possessed him for the last six months, but that too was denied him. All he could do was hang there, his body convulsing with pleasure even as his mind screamed his revulsion.

At long last they were finished, and he felt the last of them pull out of his ass with a sickening wet sucking sound. The hood was lifted from his face, the chains removed from around him as two other male slaves gently held him upright. The Master stood before him, tapping his riding crop against his thigh, a concerned paternal look on his stern features.

"Now, Schuldig, you've learned your lesson, haven't you?" The boy nodded helplessly. "You won't ever try anything like that again?"

He shook his head miserably. The man reached out and took a pair of silver manacles from another slave, and placed them over wrists rubbed raw from the earlier chains. He stared down at the circles of silver on his arms, and at the heavy chain hanging between them, and knew that he was looking at the end of his freedom, of his life. The person he had been before, whoever and whatever that was, was no more - now he was only Schuldig, pet and slave.


	7. Chapter 7

Schuldig kept his eyes lowered as he manoeuvred his way through the guests, making sure the tray he was carrying didn't tilt or spill at all. As he passed by, people reached out to pluck drinks from the lacquered surface, some also patting or pinching him in various places on his body. He didn't react, used to the treatment from his Master's guests.

The delicate-looking chain that hung between his wrists tinkled merrily, creating a kind of music to his steps. Even after nearly half a year he still wasn't used to the sound - the death knell of his freedom. The chain was far stronger than it looked; not that he had tried to escape. He had no desire to find out what his Master would do to punish him for a second attempt at rebellion, and so he had learned to submerse his sarcasm and defiance in the proper subservient attitude. It had been difficult at first, but he had immersed himself in the minds of his fellow slaves in order to learn the skills he needed to survive.

Now all that remained of whoever he had once been was the occasional nightmare of lifeless bodies strewn about his feet in a fancy ballroom, and the power that allowed him to read the minds of those around him. Perhaps 'allowed' was the wrong word - 'forced' might be more accurate. Every time his Master took him, or allowed a guest to take him, he was forced to experience it through the mind of his rapist, enjoying every moment of his own pain. In the first few months, he'd often been sick after a 'play session', his body reacting to the roiling emotions within him in a physical way. Eventually that knee-jerk reaction had ceased, leaving him empty except for the emotions of those around him.

He sensed his Master searching for him, and deftly deposited his tray on a table. Turning, he hurried over to the throne, still keeping his eyes carefully on the floor before him. It wouldn't do to accidentally look a Dom in the eyes and be accused of insolence - his back still ached from the last punishment he'd received for some trifling error. There was a cluster of men around the throne - politicians and businessmen, friends of his Master. He recognized them from past parties, and shuddered; their leader, Takatori Reiji, had very nearly killed Schuldig the last time he'd 'played' with him. The bastard had kept going long after blood loss threatened to make him pass out, with his Master and the others laughing uproariously in the background. He prayed he wouldn't be given to Takatori as a plaything tonight.

"Ah, Schuldig!" his Master called as he scurried up to them and bowed low before the throne. "How do you always know just when I want you for something? I swear, boy, it's like you can read my mind."

Schuldig remained silent, eyes on the ground, knowing he hadn't been given permission to speak. He pulled his mind in tightly, not wanting to feel the lecherous thoughts of the men around him before he had to. Something tugged at him, though - something out of place, a feeling of shock and disbelief. The 'feel' of the mind was both familiar and yet not. Tentatively, he snuck a look from the corner of his eye, through the fall of his shoulder-length red hair. He saw a tall gaijin staring back at him, golden eyes framed by steel-rimmed glasses. He got an impression of ascetic features and a smartly tailored business suit before he lowered his eyes again- one of Takatori's aides, perhaps? He was too young to be a contemporary of the powerful banker and politician.

"Crawford-san, you see here the finest of my friend Shigeru's harem. Schuldig is quite the little slut - he loves it no matter how rough or painful you make it." Schuldig gritted his teeth at that, and with a flash of his old personality, he wished he dared tell the bastard off.

 _*Lukas?*_ came a startled voice in his mind. Just another random thought that his powers picked up - except he had the oddest impression that this thought was aimed at him. _*My god - Lukas is that you?*_

He ignored the voice as he ignored them all, waiting for his Master's permission to move from the crouching bow he was in. "Rise, Schuldig," the man finally said, and he stood smoothly. He kept his eyes on his Master's feet, but now he could get a better look at the new man from his peripheral vision. He looked to be in his early twenties, and he was indeed dressed in a very expensive suit, but the slight bulge under his left arm gave him away - he was packing a gun. A bodyguard, then. The man was still staring at him, looking as though he was struggling to control his shock. Why was Takatori, notoriously rude to all his servants and hired help, bothering to talk to his new bodyguard?

"You seem quite enamoured with your new bodyguard, Takatori-san," his Master commented, echoing Schuldig's own thoughts. "I've never known you to be so civil to your hired help." The observation was barbed, a subtle insult, and Takatori didn't miss it.

"Crawford-san is the best that money can buy, Shigeru-kun," the beefy man replied stiffly, deliberately using the honorific that would imply that he was above Schuldig's Master. "He's not just a bodyguard - he's in charge of all my security forces. Why, he's already ferreted out two traitors on my staff! Which is why he's here with me tonight - not as my guard, but as a reward. And to see if his tastes run similar to mine, eh, Crawford-san?" Takatori elbowed his gaijin guard in the manner of a man sharing a joke with a friend. Crawford nodded absently, shoving his glasses further up his face in a habitual gesture.

"Of course, Mr. Takatori," he replied smoothly. His eyes never left Schuldig's face. _*For God's sake, what happened to you?*_

Schuldig couldn't ignore the fact that the query was being directed at him. It had a power and cohesiveness behind it that was lacking in the thoughts he picked up from other people - this man knew what he was, and how to communicate with him. _*Who are you?*_ he returned uncertainly, not quite sure that his reply would reach the strange man. He'd never tried sending a thought to someone else.

The man's face had returned to that impassive blankness that all professional servants cultivated, but his eyes gave him away. He was startled and upset - obviously he had expected Schuldig to know him. _*Don't you know?*_ Crawford asked, mental voice agitated.

 _*No,*_ Schuldig replied shortly. He didn't like the strange ache that was forming in his chest at the sight of this strange man. Perhaps he had known this Crawford once before, in his previous life - but it didn't matter now. He was only Schuldig.

Crawford continued to watch him as his master ordered him to serve the men - he scurried about getting drinks and snacks, long practice making him efficient at the task. _*Why do you let him do that to you?*_ the American - he wasn't sure how he knew the man was American, but he was certain of it - asked him tightly.

 _*Do you think I have a whole lot of fucking choice?*_ he snarled back, pointedly rattling his chains as he passed the gaijin. Something about this man brought back the emotions he'd been suppressing for so long, the anger and hatred at his situation. The other man frowned and said nothing, but continued watching him.

Thankfully one of Takatori's companions expressed a dislike of gaijin, so another slave was chosen to 'service' the men. Schuldig merely had to keep their drinks full and fetch anything they required; though the reprieve did not save him from numerous pinches and pats and other more intimate touches, it did at least spare him the agony of his previous encounters with Takatori. He shut his mind to their lust as best he could, and to the pain of their playtoy.

It was an effort, and he was trembling by the time they finished with the poor boy. His body was hard, his aroused state made obvious by the filmy outfit he wore. Crawford gave him a sharp look when he saw that.

 _*You're enjoying this?*_ he asked in disbelief. Before Schuldig could snap back at him, he reconsidered his statement. _*No, you're not. You're caught up in THEM enjoying this, aren't you? Why don't you shield them out? They're not projecting all that strongly.*_

 _*Easy for you to say,*_ he snapped in reply. _*Maybe you'd care to give me a lesson some time? What I'm doing sure as hell isn't working.*_ The American fell silent again.

"Well, Crawford-san, what do you think of our little entertainment?" Takatori asked his bodyguard, flushed and sweating with his exertion. Crawford had abstained from participating, though his golden eyes had appeared to drink in every detail.

"Very interesting, Mr. Takatori," Crawford replied in his silky voice, "but a bit crude for my tastes, I'm afraid. I prefer a bit more participation on the part of my partner, as it were."

Takatori laughed heartily, as though Crawford had made a joke. He appeared to have genuinely missed the distaste evident in the American's voice - then again, he was drunk enough to miss a herd of elephants stampeding through the room. "Well, there's no need for the boy to be trussed up like a chicken, of course. I prefer them a bit more active, myself. Take Schuldig, here," and he snagged the redhead by his waistband and dragged him over. Schuldig held still and tried not to retch as Takatori wrapped an arm around him and dropped one hand down to fondle his erection. Instantly the man's mind pushed at his, prying and invading and threatening to consume his own personality.

"Schuldig is always happy to participate, aren't you, boy?" the politician asked him, giving him a harder squeeze to emphasize his words. Schuldig kept his mouth shut, knowing from past experience that if he answered the question his Master would punish him for speaking without permission.

His Master had a small smile on his face as he eyed his friend and slave. "Yes, Schuldig is quite a gem. It's hard to believe he's been with me for over a year, now. He's managed to keep my attention long after others have lagged."

Takatori expressed his surprise. "A year? That must be some kind of record for you, Shigeru! You have a notoriously short attention span. I don't suppose you'll be thinking of selling him any time soon?"

The Master gave Takatori a considering look. "Perhaps. For the right price, and to the right customer. Are you interested?"

Schuldig drew in a sharp breath, and tried to quell the shaking that had begun in his limbs. His life through this past year had been bad enough - he didn't want to contemplate life as Takatori's private slave. At least his current Master generally made sure his slaves were well taken care of when they weren't at parties; Takatori's slaves frequently wound up dead or worse. Silently, he prayed that his Master would decide he couldn't part with Schuldig just yet.

 _*Would you consent to being MY slave?*_ Crawford asked him in a strained tone. Schuldig got the odd feeling that it almost physically hurt the other man to ask the question - certainly it was distressing to him.

 _*Don't put yourself out on my account,*_ he replied sourly. _*Takatori would just use me anyway.*_

 _*Not if I made it clear that my continued service in his employ was contingent on his not touching you,*_ Crawford pointed out. _*He values me too much to risk losing me over a slave.*_

 _*Why the fuck do you care?*_ he snarled back, his fear of being given to Takatori making him even more terse than usual. _*You're no kind of Dom - this whole thing disgusts you, I can tell. Why the hell should you put yourself out to rescue me?*_

 _*Because you are as powerful as I am, in your own way,*_ the American answered smoothly. All hint of stress was gone from his mental voice, as though it had never been. _*My telepathic abilities are limited to conversing with other telepaths - I can't read the minds of non-psychics. My main strength is precognition - the ability to see the future before it happens. I agreed to go with Takatori tonight because my Gift showed me that something important would be revealed to me; I believe you are that something.*_

For the first time Schuldig actually tried to get deeper into someone's head - he sensed hidden meanings and agendas in the man's words. He found that he was blocked by a wall very much like the one he kept around him, but much stronger. Briefly he dipped into one of the other men's minds, just to prove he could; there was no such barrier in anyone else's mind. This was the shield that Crawford had spoken of, then.

 _*You're not actually working for Takatori, are you?*_ he hazarded a guess based on the information he already had. The way Crawford spoke the man's name in his mind bore little similarity to the polite deference he gave the politician aloud. _*And he doesn't know you're psychic, does he?*_

_*No. I've been assigned to keep him alive while he carries out the purposes my superiors wish him to. You would likewise be working for me, and for them. They are called Esstet.*_

_*Are they the people who taught you how to use your powers?*_ he asked, curious.

_*No. Esstet has been systematically destroying the consortium that found and trained me - they knew that I had been searching for a way out, and offered me a chance to work for them.*_

Schuldig scoffed. _*You traded one set of masters for another,*_ he replied scathingly.

 _*For now,*_ Crawford answered, unruffled. _*You had best make your choice soon - Takatori is in the process of closing the bargain with Shigeru.*_

Schuldig started paying attention to what was going on around him again, and realized with a stab of terror that Crawford was right. _*You swear he'll never touch me if I go with you?*_ he asked desperately, caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place.

_*Neither he nor anyone else. You will be my submissive, but I have no wish to sleep with you. As a telepath, it would be just as distasteful to me as to you.*_

_*Done! I'm yours, I'll do whatever you want me to... just don't let HIM have me!*_

Crawford interrupted his employer just as the bargain was coming to a close. "Your pardon, Mr. Takatori," he said deferentially. "You had promised me a request as a reward for my services."

Takatori eyed him in surprise. "Of course, Crawford-san. What would you like?"

Crawford adjusted his glasses again, and nodded at Schuldig. "I find myself curious to discover what it is like to have complete control over another man. This boy interests me, as a fellow gaijin."

Takatori frowned, considering it. "I don't know," he replied slowly. "I've had my eye on the boy for some time now. Perhaps we could find you another?"

 _*Help me,*_ Crawford commanded him.

 _*HOW?*_ Schuldig snarled back, frantic. This wouldn't work unless Takatori agreed to the bargain!

_*Exert your mind on his. Convince him he wants to give you to me.*_

Schuldig wasn't sure he could do any such thing, but he was more than willing to try. Reaching out carefully, he let himself slip into Takatori's mind. It was full of plots and plans to grasp more power and influence to him - the man was greedy and a megalomaniac besides. He found the little circle of thoughts that was Takatori debating with himself over whether or not to give Schuldig up, and inserted a thought of his own. _*After a year with Shigeru, the boy's probably just about used up, anyway,*_ he projected, hoping he was being at least somewhat subtle. _*Let Crawford take the leftovers - I'd much rather find a fresh new boy and train him myself.*_

"Very well," Takatori finally concluded, to Schuldig's immense relief. "You may have him, Crawford-san - I find I'm more interested in training an unbroken slave from scratch, anyway."

It gave Schuldig a little thrill to know that HE had planted that thought in Takatori's mind - the man had been thinking of no such thing before Schuldig had suggested it. Why, he could make anyone do almost anything he wanted them to, once he'd perfected and refined this ability!

 _*That's right,*_ Crawford told him smugly. _*I will teach you control, and then you will have the world at your feet. Between my ability to predict the future and yours to read men's minds, we will be a frightening force to contend with.*_

He savoured the idea, liking the feeling of power it gave him. Every moment of his life that he could remember had been controlled by someone else - his very thoughts and feelings had been dictated by the emotional state of those around him. But if HE could control THEM instead...

He laughed silently as his manacles were removed and he went to stand by Crawford, his eyes shining with manic glee. He would submit to the American, because that was part of the bargain; but never again would he submit to anyone else, EVER. Never again would he cower at someone's feet, afraid for his life and his sanity. Instead he would be in control of those around him, playing with their minds the way a cat played with a mouse.

And if his heart squeezed with an odd ache every time he caught sight of Crawford, he would ignore it, as he ignored everything else that might remind him of his life before he'd come to his Master's harem. That life was gone, and he figured he'd blocked the memories from his mind for a good reason. He was in control of his life now. He was powerful. He was untouchable. He was cold and uncaring.

He was Schuldig.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Обладание](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6092896) by [MikiVitte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikiVitte/pseuds/MikiVitte)




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